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THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. 



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fiEINO 



THE POEMS SCATTEREri THROUGH 



THE WAVERLEY NOVELS. 



ATTRIBUTED TO AKONYMOUS SOURCES, 



BUT PRESUMED TO tJE WRITTEN 



BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



WITH TtTLES AND INDEX. 



BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED BY MUNROE & FRANCIS, 






18 5 1- 



Entered, according to Act ofron^'ress, in the yesr 1K51, 

El' DAVID G. FRAMCI^, 

In the District Court of tlie ^ourliern District of New-York. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

IN the year 1822, Mess'rs. Constable of Edinburgh pnblished 
a small volume, entitled " The Poetry contained in the Novels, 
Tales and Romances of the Author of Waverley," embracing the 
series only from Waverley to the Pirate. After that time fourteen 
additional Tales were published, and the whole work revised by 
the author. The publishers of the present volume have completed 
the project of the Edinburgh editors, and it now comprehends all the 
Poetry contained in the Waverley Novels supposed to be original, or 
translated by Sir Walter Scott. It is possible a few passages have 
been included, which were quoted from other aiuhors, although it is 
probable Sir Walter has not hesitated to alter these quotations, eith- 
er to supply defects of his own memory, or to adapt them more per- 
fectly to the matter in hand ; with these additions it will be found 
that this volume contains gems of rare beauty, many sparkles of wit, 
and many aphorisms of wisdom, which will serve for texts to in- 
numerable lessons of morality, already or hereafter to be written. 

The present publishers have ventured to prefix a title to each of 
the pieces, and added to the volume a complete Index. 

Boston, 1850. 



WAVEIiLEY POETRY. 



ROUNDELAY. 

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, 

On the mountain dawns the day. 

All the jolly chase is here, 

With hawk and horse and hunting spear: 

Hounds are in their couples yelling, 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 

The mist has left the mountain grey ; 

Springlets in the dawn are streaming, 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming, 

And foresters have busy been 

To track the buck in thicket green ; 

Now we come to chant our lay. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Waken, lords aad ladies gay, 
To the green wood haste away ; 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made. 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed ; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

Louder, loader, chant the lay. 

Waken, lords and ladies gay ; 

Tell them youth and mirth and glee. 

Run a course as well as we. 

Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk, 

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ? 

Think of this, and rise with day. 

Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



LINES 

In answer to a request of Ballantyne to acknowledge the Work. 

NO, John, 1 will not own the book, 

I won't, you picaroon ; 
When next I try St. Grubby 's brook. 
The A— of Wa— shall bait the hook, 

And flat-fish bite as soon 
As if before them they had got 
The worn-out wriggler, Walter Scott. 



WAVfiRLEY POETRY. 



MIRKWOOD MERE. 

LATE, when the autumn evening fell 
On Mirkwood Mere's romantic dell, 
The lake returned, in chasten 'd gleam, 
The purple cloud, the golden beam. 
Reflected in the crystal pool. 
Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; 
The weather-tinted rock and tower, 
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, 
So true, so soft, the mirror gave, 
As if there lay beneath the wave, 
Secure from trouble, toil and care, 
A world than earthly world more fair. 

But distant winds began to wake. 
And roused the Genius of the Lake ! 
He heard the groaning of the oak. 
And donn'd at once his sable cloak. 
As warrior, at the battle cry. 
Invests him with his panoply. 
Then, as the whirlwind nearer pressed. 
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest 
O'er furrowed brow and blackened cheek. 
And bade his surge in thunder speak. 
In wild and broken eddies whirl'd, 
Flitted that fond ideal world. 
And to the shore in tumult tost, 
The realms of fairy bliss were lost 



10 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Yet, with a stern delight and strange, 
I saw the spirit-stirring change. 
As warr'd the wind with wave and wood, 
Upon the ruin'd tower I stood, 
And felt my heart more strongly bound. 
Responsive to the lofty sound, 
While, joying in the mighty roar, 
I mourn 'd that tranquil scene no more. 

So, on the idle dreams of youth. 
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of Truth, 
Bids each fair vision pass away 
Like landscape on the lake that lay. 
As fair, as flitting, and as frail. 
As that which fled the autumn gale. 
Forever dead to fancy's eye 
Be each gay form that glided by. 
While dreams of love and lady's charms 
Give place to honor and to arms ! 



GRIEF OF THE AGED. 

TELL me not of it, friend....When the young weep. 
Their tears are lukewarm brine ; from our old eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail drops of the north, 
Chilling the furrows of our withered cheeks, 
Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feeling. 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless. ...ours recoil, 
Heap the fair plain, and Weaken all before us. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. U 



BRIDAL SONG. 

AND did you not hear of a mirth befell 

The morrow after a wedding day, 
And carrying a bride at home to dwell ? 

And aw^ay to Tewin, away, away ! 

The quintain was set, and the garlands were made, 
'Tis pity old customs should ever decay ; 

And wo be to him that was horsed on a jade, 
For he carried no credit away, away. 

We met with a consort of fiddle-de-dees. 

We set them a cock-horse, and made them play 

The * Winning of Bullen,' and ' Upsey Fires,' 
And away to Tewin, away, away ! 

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish 
That would go to the plough that day ; 

But on his fore-horse his wench he carries, 
And away to Tewin, away, away ! 

The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap, 
The maidens did make the chamber full gay ; 

The servants did give me a fuddling cup. 
And I did carry 't away, away. 

The smith of the town his liquor so took, 

That he was persuaded the ground looked blue ; 

And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, 
Such smiths as he there's but a few. 



12 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

A posset was made, and the women did sip, 
And simpering- said they could eat no more ; 

Full many a maiden was laid on the lip; 
I'll say no more, but give o'er, give o'er. 



DAVIE GELLATLY'S SONGS. 

MY heart's in the highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe ; 
My heart's in the highlands wherever I go. 

There's nought in the highlands hut syboes and leeks, 
And long-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks ; 
Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon. 
But we'll a' win the breeks when king Jamie comes 
hame. 



But follow, follow me. 

While glow-worms light the lea, 

I'll show ye where the dead should be — 
Each in his shroud. 
While winds pipe loud. 
And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud. 

Follow, follow me; 

Brave should he be. 

That treads by night the dead man's lea. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 13 



DAY IE GELLATLY'S SONGS. 

HIE away, hie away, 
Over bank and over brae, 
Where the copsewood is the greenest, 
Where the fountains glisten sheenest, 
Where the lady-fern grows strongest, 
Where the morning-dew lies longest. 
Where the black-cock sweetest sips it, 
Where the fairy latest trips it ; 
Hie to haunts right seldom seen, 
Lovely, lonesome, cool and green, 
Over bank and over brae, 
Hie away, hie away. 



FALSE love, and hast thou played me this 

Li summer among the flowers ? 
1 will repay thee back again 

In winter among the showers. 
Unless again, again, my love, 

Unless you turn again ; 
As you with other maidens rove, 

I'll smile on other men. 



THE Knight 's to the mountain 

His bugle to wind ; 
The Lady 's to green wood 

Her garland to bind. 



14 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

The bower of Burd Ellen 
Has moss on the floor, 

That the step of Lord William 
Be silent and sure. 



YOUNG men will love thee more fair and more fast ; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
Old men's love the longest will last ; 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire ; 

Heard ye so merr^^ the little bird sing ? 
But like red hot steel is the old man's ire ; 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing. 

The young man will brawl at the evening board ; 

Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? 
But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword ; 

And the throstle-cock's head is under his winor. 



THEY came upon us in the night, 

And brake my bower, and slew my knight ; 

My servants a' for life did flee, 

And left us in extremitie. 

They slew my knight, to me sae dear, 

They slew my knight, and drave his gear ; 

The moon may set, the sun may rise. 

But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes 



VVAVERLEY POETRY. 15 



FLORA MAC IVOR'S SONG. 

THEEE is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. 
A stranger commanded. ...it sunk on the land, 
It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand. 

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, 
The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust ; 
On the hill o'r the glen if a gun should appear, 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires, if our bards should rehearse, 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! 
Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone, 
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays. 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. 

O high-minded Moray !....the exiled. ...the dear !.... 
In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear ! 
Wide, wide on the winds of the North let it fly, 
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! 

Ye sons of the strong, when that da^^ning shall break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? 
That dawn never beamed on your forefathers* eye. 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. 



16 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

O, sprung from the Kings who in Isiay kept state, 
Proud Chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengarry and Sleat ! 
Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow, 
And resistless in union rush down on the foe ! 

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, 
Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel ! 
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell, 
Till far Corryarrick resound to the knell ! 

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale ! 
May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free, 
Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw and Dundee ! 

Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given 
Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven, 
Unite with the race of renowned Rorri More, 
To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar ! 

How Mac Shimei will joy when their chief shall display 
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey ! 
How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murder'd Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe ! 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar, 
Resume the pure faith of the great Callum-More ! 
Mac-Neil of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, 
For honor, for freedom, for vengeance, awake !.... 

# ^ # # ^ # 



WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 17 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, 
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith and the lake ! 
'Tis the bugle.... but not for the chase is the call ; 
*Tis the pibroch's shrill summons. ...but not to the halL 

'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; 
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, 
To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. 

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! 
May the blood thro' his veins flow like currents of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke, as your sires did of yore, 
Or die like your sires, and endure it no more ! 



IJ^ERGtJS^ soNa. 

O LADY of the desert, hail ! 
That lovest the harping of the Gael, 
Through fair and fertile regions borne, 
Where never yet grew grass or corn. 

=^ ^ ^ # # # 

O vous, qui buve2 a tasse pleine, 
A cette heureuse fontaine, 
Ou on ne voit sur le rivage 

Que quelques vilains troupeaux^ 
Suivis de nymphes de village. 
Qui les escortent sans sabots...^ 



18 WAVERLEY POETRr. 



WAVERLEY. 



HIS heart was all on honor bent, 
He could not stoop to love ; 

No lady in the land had power 
His frozen heart to move. 



THE HERBALIST'S CHARM. 

HAIL to thee, thou holy herb, 
That sprung on holy ground ! 

All in the Mount Olivet 
First wert thou found. 

Thou art boot for many a bruise, 
And healest many a wound ; 

In our Lady's blessed name 
I take thee from the ground. 



THE BARON'S ARIETTE. 

MON coeur volage, dit elle, 
N'est pas pour vous, gargon, 

Est pour un homme de guerre, 
Qui a barbe au menton. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 

Qui port chapeau a plume, 

Soulier a rouge talon. 
Qui joue de la flute, 

Aussi de violon. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 



WAVERLEY POETRiT. 19 



BALMAWHAPPLE'S SONG. 

IT *s up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed, 
And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, 
And mony a weary cast I made, 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail. 

If up a bonny black cock should spring, 
To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing 
And strap him on to my lunzie string, 
Eiofht seldom would I fail. 



HIGHLAND MODE OF PAYING DEBTS. 

WE 'LL give them the metal our mountain affords, 
Lillibulero, bulien a la. 

And in place of broad-pieces, well pay with broad-swords, 

Lero, lero, &c. 

With duns and with debts we will soon clear our score, 

Lillibulero, &:c. 

For the man that's thus paid will crave payment no more, 

Lero, lero, &c. 



A WIFE'S LAMENT. 



gin ye were dead, gudeman, 
And a green turf on your head, gudeman. 

Then I wad ware my widowhood 
Upon a ranting Highlandman. 



20 WAVERLKY POETRY. 



ST.SWITHIN'S CHAIR. 

ON Hallowmas Eve, ere ye boune ye to rest, 
Ever beware that your couch be bless'd ; 
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, 
Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. 

For on Hallowmas Eve the Night-Hag will ride, 
And all her nine-fold sw^eeping on by her side, 
Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, 
Sailing through moonshine, or swathed in the cloud. 

The Lady she sat in St. Swithin's Chair, 
The dew of the night had damp'd her hair ; 
Her cheek was pale.... but resolved and high 
Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye* 

She muttered the spell of St. S with in bold. 
When his naked foot traced the midnight wold. 
Y/hen he stopt the Hag as she rode the night, 
And bade her descend, and her promise plight. 

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, 
When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air, 
Questions three, when he speaks the spell, 
He may ask, and she must tell. 

The Baron has been with King Robert his Iiege, 
These three long years, in battle and siege ; 
News there are none of his weal or his wo, 
And fain the Lady his fate would know. 



/ 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 21 

She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ;.... 
Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? 
Or is it that sound, between laughter and scream, 
The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream ? 

The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, 
And the roaring torrent has ceased to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, 
When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form ! 



When Sir Walter began to write the History of Napoleon, Mr. Con- 
stable sent him several cartloads of books for consultation, to- 
gether with a hundred huge folio volumes of the Moniteur. He 
writes to Lockhart : 

WHEN with poetry dealing, 
Room enough in a shealing ; 
Neither cabin nor hovel 
Too small for a novel ; 
Though my back I should rub 
'Gainst Diogenes' tub, 
How my fancy could prance 
In a dance of Romance ! 
But my house I must sw\ip 
With some Brobdignag chap, 
Ere I grapple, God bless me ! with Emperor Nap. 



22 WAVE RLE Y FOETKY. 



TO AN OAK TREE, 

In a churchyard in the Highlands, said to mark the grave of Cap- 
tain Wogan, who was killed in 1649. 

EMBLEM of England's ancient faith, 
Full proudly may thy branches wave, 

Where loyalty lies low in death, 
And valor fills a timeless grave. 

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb ! 

Repine not if our clime deny, 
Above thine honored sod to bloom, 

The flowerets of a milder sky. 

These owe their birth to genial May ; 

Beneath a fiercer sun they pine, 
Before the winter storm decay.... 

And can their worth be type of thine ? 

No ! for, 'mid storms of Fate opposing. 
Still higher swell'd thy dauntless heart, 

And while Despair the scene was closing, 
Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. 

'Twas then thou sought'st on Albyn's hill, 
(When England's sons the strife resign'd,) 

A rugged race resisting still, 

And unsubdued though unrefin'd. 

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail, 
No holy knell thy requiem rung ; 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 23 

Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, 
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. 

Yet who, in Fortune's summer shine 

To waste life's longest term away, 
Would change that glorious dawn of thine, 

Though darkened ere its noontide day ? 

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs 
Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom ! 

Rome bound with oak her patriot brows, 
As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb. 



HATTERAICK'S SONG. 

SAUFEN bier, und brante-wein, 
Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein ; 

Ich ben liederlich, 

Du bist liederlich, 
Sind wir nicht liederlich Leute a. 



GLOSSIN ' S SONG. 

GIN by pailfuls, wine in rivers, 
Dash the window-glass to shivers ! 
For three wild lads were we, brave boys, 
And three wild lads were we ; 
Thou on the land, and I on the sand. 
And Jack on the gallows tree ! 



24 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE GYPSY'S CHARM. 

CANNY moment, lucky fit ; 

Is the lady lighter yet ? 

Be it lad, or be it lass, 

Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass. 

Trefoil, vervain, john's-wort, dill, 
Hinders witches of their will ! 
Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 

Saint Bride and her brat. 
Saint Colme and her cat. 
Saint Michael and his spear, 
Keep the house frae reif and weir. 



TWIST ye, twine ye ! even so 
Mingle shades of joy and wo, 
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, 
In the thread of human life. 

While the mystic twist is spinning. 
And the infant's life beginning, 
Dimly seen through twilight bending, 
Lo, what varied shapes attending ! 

Passions wild, and follies vain, 
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; 
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear. 
In the magic dance appear. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 25 

Now they wax, and now they dwindle, 
Whirling with the whirling spindle. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mino[le human bliss and wo. 



DEATH CHANT. 

WASTED, weary, wherefore stay, 
Wrestling thus with earth and clay ? 
From the body pass away,.... 

Hark ! the mass is singing. 

From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
Mary Mother be thy speed, 
Saints to help thee at thy need,.... 
Hark ! the knell is ringing. 

Fear not snow-drift, driving fast. 
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast; 
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast, 
And the sleep be on thee cast 

That shall ne'er know waking. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone. 
Earth flits fast, and time draws on,.... 
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, 
Day is near the breaking. 



26 WAVERLEY P0ETR5^. 



PROPHECY. 

THE dark shall be light, 

And the wrong made right. 

When Bertram's riofht and Bertram's mio^ht 

Shall meet on Ellangowan's height. 



THE INDIAN EMIGRANT. 

SO the red Indian by Ontario's side, 
Nursed hardy on the brindled panther's hide, 
As fades his swarthy race, with anguish sees 
The white man's cottage rise beneath the trees ; 
He leaves the shelter of his native wood. 
He leaves the murmur of Ohio's flood, 
And forward rushing, in indignant grief. 
Where never foot has trod the fallen leaf, 
He bends his course where twilight reigns sublime, 
O'er forests silent since the birth of time. 



ETERNITY. 



OUR hopes and fears 

Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
Look down.. ..On what ?....a fathomless abyss, 
A dark eternity.... how surely ours ! 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 27 



THE PRISON. 

A PEISON is a house of care, 

A place where none can thrive, 
A touchstone true to try a friend, 

A grave for one alive. 
Sometimes a place of right, 

Sometimes a place of wrong, 
Sometimes a place of rogues and thieves. 

And honest men among. 



POLITE HOSTESS. 



TO every guest the appropriate speech v/as made. 
And every duty with distinction paid ; 
Respectful, easy, pleasant, or polite, 
" Your Honor's servant... .Mr. Smith, good night." 



PRIDE. 



TO hail the king in seemly sort 

The ladie was full fain ; 
But King Arthur, all sore amazed. 

No answer made again. 
" What wight art thou," the ladie said, 

" That will not speak to me ? 
Sir, I may chance to ease thy pain. 

Though I be foul to see." 



28 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



A FORCED BARGAIN. 

MY gold is gone, my money is spent, 
My land now take it unto thee. 

Give me thy gold, good John o' the Scales, 
And thine for aye my land shall be. 

Then John he did him to record draw. 
And John he caste him a gods-pennie ; 

And for every pounde that John agreed. 
The land, I wis, was well worth three. 



THE CHANGE. 
AH, cruel maid, how hast thou changed 

The temper of my mind ! 
My heart, by thee from all estranged. 

Becomes, like thee, unkind. 



THE EYE OF PROVIDENCE. 

For though, seduced and led astray, 

Thou 'st travelled far, and wandered long, 

Thy God hath seen thee all the way. 
And all the turns that led thee wrong. 



THE CUNNING MAN. 

HOW like a hateful ape, 

Detected grinning midst his pilfer'd hoard, 
A cunning man appears, whose secret frauds 
Are opened to the day I 



WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 29 



EPITAPH. 



NATHANIEL'S heart, BezaleePs hand, 

if any ever had, 
These boldly do I say had he, 

Who lieth in this bed. 



SPIRITS. 



'TIS said that words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in planetary hour ; 
But scarce I praise their venturous part, 
Who tamper with such dangerous art. 



LETTERS. 



Heaven first, in its mercy, taught mortals their letters, 
For ladies in limbo, and lovers in fetters, 
Or some author, who, placing his persons before ye, 
Ungallantly leaves them to write their own story. 



VIRTUE'S PATH. 

WITH prospects bright upon the world he came, 
Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame ; 
Men watch'd the way his lofty mind would take, 
And all foretold the progress he would make. 

C2 



30 W^AVERLEY POETRV 



THE HAUNTED CHAMBER. 

** BE brave," she cried, " you yet may be our guest, 

Our haunted room was ever held the best. 

If then your valor can the sight sustain 

Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain ; 

If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, 

When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; 

If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, 

I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room/' 



THE ROCK-BOUND SHORE. 

Pleased awhile to view 

The watery waste, the prospest wild and new. 
The now receding waters gave them space, 
On either side the growing shores to trace ; 
And then, returning, they contract the scene, 
Till small and smaller wanes the walk between. 



PROPHECY CONFIRMED. 

THIS does indeed confirm each circumstance 

The gypsy told 

No orphan, nor without a friend art thou . . . 
I am thy father, here's thy m.other, there 
Thy uncle .... This thy first cousin, and these 
Are all thy near relations ! 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 31 



GYPSIES. 

COME, princes of the ragged regiment^ 
You of the blood ! Prigg, my most upright lord, 
And these, what name or title e'er they bear, 
Jarkman, or Patrico, Cranke, or Clapper-dudgeon, 
Prater or Abram*man....I speak of all. 



THE ANTIQUARY. 

I KNEW Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, 

Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; 

But he was shrewish as a wayward child, 

And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; 

As . . . book of fables graced with print of wood, 

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal. 

Or the rare melody of some old ditty. 

That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. 



THE VISION. 

See then, Lovel . . .See .... 

See that huge battle moving from the mountains. 
Their gilt coats shine like dragon scales ; their march 
Like a rough tumbling storm. See them, and view 

them, 
And then see Rome no more. 



32 WAVERLEY POETR^T. 



LINES TO BALLANTYNE, 

On finishing "Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk." 

Dear James, Pm done, thank God, with the long yams 
Of the most prosy of the apostles, Paul ; 

And now advance, sweet heathen of Monkbarns, 
Step out, old Quizj as fast as I can scrawl. 



THE RETAINER. 



I AM going to the parliament. 

You understand this bag : If you have any business 
Depending there, be short, and let me hear it, 
And pay your fees. 



THE OUTCAST. 

CAN no rest find me, no private place secure me, 
But still my miseries like bloodhounds haunt me ? 
Unfortunate young man, which way now guides thee 
Guides thee from death ? The country's laid around 
for thee. 



AN OATH. 

BY Woden, god of Saxons, 

From whence comes Wensday, that is, Wodnesday^ 
Truth is a thing that I will ever keep 
Unto thylke day in which I creep into 
sepulcre 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 33 



THE RUINED HOUSE. 

YES, ye moss-green walls, 

Ye towers defenceless, I revisit ye 
Shame-stricken ! Where are all your trophies now ? 
Your thronged courts, the revelry, the tumult. 
That spoke the grandeur of my house, the homage 
Of neighboring barons ? 



ARGUMENTATION. 

HERE has been such a stormy encounter 
Betwixt my cousin captain and this soldier, 
About I know not what !.... nothing indeed ; 
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives 
Of soldiership !.... 



THE GABERLUNZIE. 



THE pawky auld carle cam ower the lea, 
Wi' mony good-e'ens and good-morrows to me, 
Saying, Kind sir, for your courtesy, 
Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? 



THE MILITARY PHYSICIAN. 

HE came. ...but valor so had fired his eye, 
And such a falchion glittered on his thigh. 
That, by the gods, with such a load of steel, 
I thought he came to murder.. ..not to heal ! 



34 WAVE RLE Y POETRV. 



FUNEREAL PAGEANTRY. 

BUT this poor farce has neither truth, nor art, 
To please the fancy, or to touch the heart. 
Dark, but not awful, dismal, but yet mean, 
With anxious bustle moves the cumbrous scene, 
Presents no objects tender or profound, 
But spreads its cold unmeaning gloom around. 



SELF-PUNISHMENT. 

'TWAS he 

Gave heat unto the injury, which returned, 
Like a petard ill-lighted, into the bosom 
Of him gave fire to't. Yet I hope his hurt 
Is not so dangerous but he may recover. 



OLD WORLD POLITENESS. 

I am one of the old school, 

When courtiers galloped o'er four counties 
The ball's fair partner to behold. 
And humbly hope she caught no cold. 



THE VISIONARY. 

Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, 
And ordered all the pageants as they went ; 
Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play,.... 
The loose and scattered reliques of the day. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 35 



TIME. 



" WHY sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, 
Thou aged carle, so stern and grey ? 

Dost thou its former pride recall. 
Or ponder how it passed away ? " 

" Know'st thou not me," the Deep Voice cried, 
" So long enjoyed, so oft misused.... 

Alternate, in thy fickle pride. 

Desired, neglected, and accused ? 

" Before my breath, like blazing flax, 
Man and his marvels pass away , 

And changing empires wane and wax, 
Are founded, flourish and decay. 

" Redeem mine hours. ...the space is brief.... 

While in my glass the sand-grains shiver ; 
And measureless thy joy or grief. 

When Time and thou shalt part forever ! " 



THE ANTIQUARIAN LIBRARY. 

THAT weight of wood, with leathern coat overlaid, 

Those ample clasps of solid metal made. 

The close-prest leaves, unoped for many an age, 

The dull red edging of the well-filled page. 

On the broad back the stubborn ridges rolPd, 

Where yet the title stands m tarnished gold.J 



36 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



EXCHANGE NO ROBBERY. 

WELL, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage, 
Granting I knew all that you charge me with. 
What though the tomb hath born a second birth, 
And given the w^ealth to one that knew not on't, 
Yet fair exchange was never robbery, 
Far less pure bounty. 



THE RING. 

This Ring.... 

This little Ring, with necromantic force. 
Has raised the ghost of Pleasure to my fears, 
Conjured the sense of honor and of love 
Into such shapes, they fright me from myself. 



TRUE FREEDOM. 

Beggar ?....the only freeman of your commonwealth ; 

Free above Scot-free ; that observe no laws. 

Obey no governor, use no religion 

But what they draw from their own ancient custom, 

Or constitute themselves ; yet they are no rebels. 



THE INDEPENDENT BEGGAR. 

. . . . MANY great ones 

Would part with half their states, to have the plan 
And credit to beg in the first style. 



WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 37 



THE ABBOT. 

The Lord Abbot had a soul 

Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire ; 

By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, 

And if in devils' possession gold be kept, 

He brought some sure from thence. ...'tis hid in caves, 

Known, save to me, to none. 



TRANSLATION OF A DL4lL0GUE FROM OSSIAN. 

** PATEICK the psalm-singer, 

Since you will not listen to one of my stories, 

Though you never heard it before, 

I am sorry to tell you 

You are little better than an ass...." 

" Upon my word, son of Fingal, 
While I am warbling the psalms, 
The clamor of your old women's tales 
Disturbs my devotional exercises." 

** Dare you compare your psalms, 

You son of a 

Do you compare your psalms 

To the tales of the bare-arm'd Finians ? 

I shall think it no great harm 

To wring your bald head from your shoulders.*' 



38 WAVERLEY POETHY. 



DUELLING. 

. . . , . If you fail Honor here, 
Never presume to serve her any more ; 
Bid farewell to the integrity of arms ; 
And the honorable name of soldier 
Fall from you, like a shivered wreath of laarel 
By thunder struck from, a desertless forehead. 



THE FISHER'S BOAT. 

WEEL may the boatie row, 

And better may she speed, 
And weel may the boatie row 

That earns the bairnies' bread. 
The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie row^s fu' weel, 
And lightsome be their life that bear 

The merlin and the creel. 



HECTOR'S COI^IEAT WITH THE SEAL. 

WHO is he?.. ..One that for lack of land 
Shall fight upon the water. He has challenged 
Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles 
Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. 
He tilted with a sword-fish. Marry, sir. 
The aquatic had the best. ...the argument 
Still galls our champion's breech. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 39 



GRIEF OF THE AGED. 

TELL me not of it, friend. When the young weep, 
Their tears are lukewarm brine. From our old eyes 
Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, 
Chilling the furrows of our wither'd cheeks, 
Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feeling. 
Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless. ...ours recoil, 
Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us. 



THE ALCHEMIST. 

And this Doctor, 

Your sooty smoky-bearded compeer, he 
Will close you so much gold in a bolt's head. 
And, on a turn, convey in the stead another 
With sublimed mercury, that shall burst i' the heat, 
And all fly out in fumo. 



REMORSE. 

REMOESE....she ne'er forsakes us ! 

A bloodhound staunch. She tracks our rapid step 
Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, 
Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us ; 
Then, in our lair, when time hath chilled our joints, 
And maimed our hope of combat or of flight, 
We hear her deep-mouth'd bay, announcing all 
Of wrath and wo and punishment that bides us. 



40 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



ELSPETH'S BALLADS. 

THE herring loves the merry moonlight, 

The mackerel loves the wind, 
Bat the 'oyster loves the dredging sang, 

For they come of a gentle kind. 

tF "T^ ^ W W "7? 

Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, 

And listen great and sma', 
And I will sing of Glenallaa's Earl 

That fought on the red Harlaw. 

The cronach 's cried on Bennachie, 

And doun the Don and a', 
And hieland and lawland may mournfu* be 

For the sair field of Harlaw. 

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, 
They hae bridled a hundred black, 

With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, 
And a good knight upon his back. 

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, 

A mile, but barely ten, 
When Donald came branking down the brae 

Wi' twenty thousand men. 

Their tartans they were waving wide, 
Their glaives were glancing clear, 

The pibrochs rung frae side to side. 
Would deafen ye to hear. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 41 

The great Earl in his stirrups stood, 

That Highland host to see ; 
Now here a knight that's stout and good 

May prove a jeopardie ; 

** What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, 

That rides beside my reyn, 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day, 

And I were Roland Cheyne ? 

** To turn the rein were sin and shame. 

To fight were wond'rous peril, 
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, 

Were ye Glenallan's Earl ? " 

" Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, 

And ye were Roland Cheyne, 
The spur should he in my horse's side, 

And the bridle upon his mane. 

*' If they hae twenty thousand blades, 

And we twice ten times ten, 
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids. 

And we are mail-clad men* 

** My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude. 

As through the moorland fern, 
Then ne'er let gentle Norman blude 

Grow cauld for Highland kerne." 

AA. ^ ^ ^\r. j^ ^ 

^^ T?- ^^ ^- W Tv" 

d2 



42 WAVERLEY POETKY. 

He turned him right and round again, 
Said, Scorn na at my mither ; 

Light loves I may get mony a ane, 
But mirinie ne'er anither. 



AVARICE. 

SO, while the goose, of whom the fable told, 

Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold, 

With hands outstretched, impatient to destroy, 

Stole on her secret nest the cruel boy, 

Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream? 

For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. 



FALLEN PRIDE. 

LET those go see who will.. ..I like it not.... 
For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp, 
And all the nothings he is now divorced from 
By the hard doom of stern necessity ; 
Yet is it sad to mark his altered brow, 
Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil 
O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish, 



ROB ROY. 

FAR and near, through vale and hill, 
Are faces that attest the same. 

And kindle, like a Are new stirr'd, 
At sound of Rob Eov's nanie. 



WAVE^LEY r^OETRY. 43 



SYJVIPATHY BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH* 

STILL in his dead hand clenched remain the strings 
That thrill his father's heart . . . e'en as the limb, 
Lopt off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, 
Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, 
Whose nerves are twingeing still in maimed existence. 



HOPELESSNESS. 

A hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate ; 
I've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes*..* 
I've heard the last sound of her blessed voice... 
I've seen her fair form from my sight depart ; 
My doom is closed. 



FAREWELL TO THE HIGHLANDS. 

Farewell to the land where the clouds love to restj 
Like the shroud of the dead, on the mountain's cold 

breast ; 
To the cataract's roar^ where the eagles reply, 
And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. 



RESTORATION DEMANDED. 

AND be he safe restored ere evening set, 
Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, 
And power to wreak it in an armed hand, 
Your land shall ache for't* 



44 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



COMMENDABLE SILENCE. 

YES ! I love Justice well..».as well as you do.,.. 
But, since the good dame's blind, she shall excuse me^ 
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb. 
The breath I utter now shall be no means 
To take away from me my breath in future. 



EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. 

FOR the voice of that wild horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

The dying hero's call, 
That told imperial Charlemagne, 
•How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain 

Had wrought his champion's falL 

Sad over earth and ocean sounding. 
And England's distant cliffs astounding. 

Such are the notes should say 
How Britain's hope, and France's fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 

In Bourdeaux dying lay. 

" Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, 
" And let the casement be displayed. 

That I may see once more 
The splendor of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirror'd wave, Garonne, 

And Blaye's empurpled shore* 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 45 

" Like me he sinks to Glory's sleep, 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear, 
When England's maids and matrons hear 

Of their Black Edward dead. 

" And though my sun of glory set, 
Nor France nor England shall forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise. 
New planets in these southern skies. 

Through clouds of blood and flame." 



LIFE'S VARIABLENESS. 

LIFE, with you, 

Glows in the brain, and dances in the arteries ; 
'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff'd, 
That glads the heart and elevates the fancy . . . 
Mine is the poor residuum of the cup. 
Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling 
With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. 



DIANA'S CHAMBER. 
YON lamp its line of quivering light 

Shoots from my lady's bowser ; 
But why should Beauty's lamp be bright 

At midnight's lonely hour ? 



46 WAVE RLE Y FGETKY. 



THE SUPERANNUATED. 

LIFE ebbs from such old age, unmarked and silent. 
As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley. 
Late she rocked merrily at the least impulse 
That wind or wave could give ; but now her keel 
Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en 
An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. 
Each wave receding shakes her less and less, 
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain 
Useless as motionless. 



PROPER RESENTMENT. 

NAY, if she love me not, I care not for her. 

Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms ? 

Or sigh because she smiles, and smiles on others ? 

Not I, by heaven ! I hold my peace too dear 

To let it, like the plume upon her cap. 

Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. 



WAR. 
" WO to the vanquished ! " was stern Brenno's word. 
When sunk proud Eome beneath the Gallic sword.... 
*' Wo to the vanquished ! " when his massy blade 
Bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd * 
And on the field of foughten battle still 
War knows no limit, save the victor's will. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 47 



DEBTOR'S PRISON. 

LOOK round thee, yoang Astolpho. Here's the place, 
Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in ; 
Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. 
Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench, 
Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and at the snuff, 
Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and wayward. 
The desperate revelries of wild despair, 
Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds 
That the poor captive would have died ere practised, 
Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. 



A TOWN WITHOUT AN INN. 

BARON of Bucklivie, 

May the foul fiend drive ye, 
And a' to pieces rive ye, 
For building sic a town, 
Where there's neither horse meat, nor man's meat, nor 
a chair to sit down. 



DESOLATION. 

FAR as the eye could reach no tree was seen, 
Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green ; 
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew ; 
No bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo ; 
No streams, as amber smooth. ..as amber clear, 
V*^ere seen to glide, or heard to warble here. 



48 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



FORTUNE. 

FORTUNE, you say, flies from us... .She but circles, 
Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiffs ; 
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next 
Brushing the white sail \vith her \vhiter wing, 
As if to court the aim. Experience watches, 
And has her on the wheel. 



ELSPETH ' S HIDDEN SECRET. 

WHAT is this secret sin, this untold tale, 
That art cannot extract, nor penance cleanse ? 
. . . . Her muscles hold their place ; 
Nor discomposed, nor formed to steadiness, 
No sudden flushing, and no faltering lip. 



DIE VERNON'S LIBRARY. 



IN the w^ide pile, by others heeded not, 

Hers w^as one sacred solitary spot. 

Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain 

For moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain. 



COME fill up my cup, come fill up my cann. 
Come saddle my horses, and call up my man ; 
Come open your gates, and let me gae free, 
I daurna stay langer in bonny Dundee. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 49 



BALLAD. YOUNG ROB ROY. 

EOB EOY is frae the Hielands come, 
Down to the Lowland border ; 

And he has stolen that lady away, 
To hand his house in order. 

He set her on a milk-white steed. 

Of none he stood in awe ; 
Until they reached the Hieland hills, 

Aboon the Balmaha' ! 

Saying, be content, be content. 
Be content with me, lady ; 

Where will ye find in Lennox land, 
Sae braw a man as me, lady ? 

Rob Roy, he was my father called, 
Mac Gregor was his name, lady ; 

A' the country, far and near. 

Have heard Mac Gregorys fame, lady. 

He w^as a hedge about his friends, 

A heckle to his foes, lady ; 
If any man did him gainsay. 

He felt his deadly blows, lady. 

I am as bold, I am as bold, 
I am as bold and more, lady ; 

Any man that doubts my word. 
May try my gude claymore, lady. 



50 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Then be content, be content, 
Be content with me, lady ; 

For now you are my wedded wife, 
Until the day ye die, lady. 



ROBBING THE BAGGAGE. 

EOB ROY he stood watch 
On a hill to catch 

The booty, for aught that I saw, man ; 
For he ne'er advanced 
From the place where he stanced, 

Till nae mair was to do there at a', man. 



FROM ARIOSTO. 

LADIES, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame, 

Deeds of emprize and courtesy I sing ; 
What time the Moors from sultry Afric came, 

Led on by Agramant their youthful king.... 

He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring 
O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war ; 

Such ills from old Trojano's death did spring. 
Which to avenge he came from realms afar. 
And menaced Christian Charles, the Eoman Emperor. 
Of dauntless Eoland too, my strain shall sound, 

In import never known in prose or rhyme. 
How He, the chief of judgment deem'd profound, 

For luckless love was crazed upon a time 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 51 



JUSTICE INGLEWOOD'S SONG. 

O, in Skipton-in-Craven 

Is never a haven, 
But many a day foul weather ; 

And he that would say 

A pretty girl nay, 
I wish for his cravat a tether. 



MORRIS'S SONG. 

Good people all, I pray give ear, 
A woful story you shall hear, 
'Tis of a robber as stout as ever 
Bade a true man stand and deliver. 

With his foodie doo fa loodle loo. 

This knave, most worthy of a cord, 
Being armed with pistol and with sword, 
'Twixt Kensington and Brentford then 
Did boldly stop six honest men. 

With his foodie doo, &c. 

These honest men did at Brentford dine, 
Having drank each man his pint of wine, 
When this bold thief, with many curses. 
Did say. You dogs, your lives or purses. 
With his foodie doo, &;c. 



62 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



TOBACCO. 

THE Indian leaf doth briefly burn, 
So doth man's strength to weakness turn ; 
The fire of youth extinguished quite, 
Comes age, like embers dry and white. 
Think of this, as you smoke tobacco. 



HORSEMANSHIP. 

HOW melts my beating heart ! as I behold 
Each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride, 
Push on the generous steed, that sweeps along 
O'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill, 
Nor falters in the extended vale below ! 



WOMAN ' S SMILE. 

THE bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath 

Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring ; 

And, in the April dew, or beam of May, 

Its moss or lichen freshen and revive ; 

And thus the heart, most seared to human pleasure, 

Melts at the tear, and joys in the smile, of woman. 



BRENT brov/ and lily skin 

A loving heart, and a leal within. 

Is better than gowd or gentle kin. 



WAVEELEY POETRY. 53 



ARE these the Links of Forth, she said, 
Or are they the crooks of Dee, 

Or the bonny woods of Warroch-head, 
That I so fain would see ? 



LINES 

Sent to Ballantyiie with the last proof-sheet of Rob Roy. 

With great joy, 
I send you Roy ; 
'Twas a tough job. 
But we're done with Rob. 



THE POISONER OF MORALS. 

DIRE was his thought, who first in poison steeped 

The weapon formed for slaughter.... direr his, 

And worthier of damnation, who instilled 

The mortal venom in the social cup, 

To fill the veins with death instead of life. 



SO spak the knicht. The geaunt sed, 
Lead forth with thee the sely maid. 

And mak me quite of the and sche ; 
For glaunsing ee, or brow so brent, 
Or cheek with rose and lilye blent, 

Me lists not ficht with the. 

E2 



54 ^VAVERLEY POETRY. 



JENNY DENNISON AND HALLIDAY. 

IF I were to follow a poor sodger lad, 

My friends wad be angry, my minnie be mad , 

A laird or a lord, they were fitter for me, 
Sae I'll never be fain to follow thee. 

To follow me ye weel may be glad, 

A share of my supper, a share of my bed ; 

To the sound of the drum to range fearless and free, 

I'll gar ye be fain tlD follow me. 



MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. 

AND what though winter will pinch severe 
Through locks of grey, and a cloak that's old, 

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier. 
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

For time will rust the brightest blade, 
And years will break the strongest bow ; 

Was never wight so starkly made. 
But time and years would overthrow. 



1 LEFT my ladye's bower last night,...* 
It was clad in wreaths of snaw, 

I'll seek it when the sun is bright, 
And sweet the roses blaw. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 65 



VERSES 
Found in Bothwell's Pocket Book, and inclosed was a lock of hair. 

THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, 
As in that well-remembered night, 
Vfhen first thy mystic braid was wove, 
And first my Agnes whispered love* 

Since then how often hast thou prest 
The torrid zone of this wild breast, 
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell 
With the first sin which peopled hell ; 
A breast, whose blood's a troubled ocean, 
Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion ! 
O, if such clime thou canst endure, 
Yet keep thy hue unstained and pure, 
What conquest o'er each erring thought 
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought ! 
I had not Wandered wild and wide 
With such an angel for my guide ; 
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me, 
If she had lived, and lived to love me. 

Not then this world's wild joys had been 
To me one savage hunting scene, 
My sole delight the headlong race, 
And frantic hurry of the chase ; 
To start, pursue, and bring to bay, 
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, 
Then.. ..from the carcass turn away ! 



56 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, 
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed ! 
Yes, God and man might now approve me, 
If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me ! 



GLORY. 

SOUND, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! 

To all the sensual world proclaim, 
One crowded hour of glorious life 

Is worth an acre without a name* 



. . . . 'TWAS time and griefs 
That framed him thus. Time, with his fairer hand; 
Oflfering the fortunes of his former days, 
The former man may make him* 



MY hounds may a' rin masterless, 
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, 

My lord may grip my vassal lands. 
For there again maun I never be ! 



A GOOD CONSCIENCE. 



STONE walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
A free and quiet mind can take 

These for a hermitage. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 57 



TAKE A MOTHER'S ADVICE. 

THEN out and spake the auld mother, 

And fast her tears did fa', 
Ye wadna be warned, my son Johnnie, 

Frae the huntin<? to bide awa'. 



AS e'er ye saw the rain down fa', 
Or yet the arrow from the bow, 

Sae our Scots lads fell even down, 
And they lay slain on every knowe. 



A WAY OF ESCAPE. 

MUCH have I feared, but am no more afraid. 
When some chaste beauty by some wretch betrayed, 
Is drawn away with such distracted speed. 
That she anticipates a dreadful deed. 

Not so do I Let solid walls impound 

The captive fair, and dig a m'oat around ; 
Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel, 
And keepers cruel, such as never feel ; 
With not a single note the purse supply, 
And when she begs, let men and maids deny ; 
Be windows there from which she dares not fall. 
And help so distant 'tis in vain to call ; 
Still means of freedom will some Power devise. 
And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize. 



58 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY. 

HERE lies ane saint to prelates surly, 

Being John Balfour, sometime of Burley, 

Who stirred up to vengeance take. 

For Solemn League and Cov'nant's sake. 

Upon the Magus Moor, in Fife, 

Did tak James Sharpe the apostate's life ; 

By Dutchman's hands was hacked and shot, 

Then drowned in Clyde near this saam spot. 



. . . . Where's the jolly host 

You told me of ? 't has been my custom ever 

To parley with mine host. 



EFFIE ' S SCRAPS OF SONGS. 



THE elfin knight sat on the brae, 

The broom grows bonny, the broom grows fair ; 
And by there came lilting a lady so gay. 

And we daurna sranq- down to the broom nae mair. 



Through the kirk-yard 
I met wi' the laird. 
The silly puir body he said me nae harm ; 
But just ere 'twas dark 
1 met wi' the clerk 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 59 



THE PARTING. 



THEN she stretched out her lily hand, 

And for to do her best ; 
" Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie, 

God gi'e thy soul good rest." 



ARTHUR'S Seat shall be my bed, 
The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me ; 

St. Anton's well shall be my drink, 
Sin' my true love's forsaken me. 



DARK and eerie was the night. 
And lonely was the way. 

As Janet, wi' her green, mantel. 
To Miles' Cross she did gae. 



AND some they whistled, and some the}^ sang, 

And some did loudly say, 
Whenever Lord Barnard's horn it blew 

*' Away, Musgrave, away ! " 



REASON FOR ROBBING. 



ROBIN Hood was a yeoman good, 

And his bow was of trusty yew ; 
And if Robin said stand on the king's lea land, 

Pray, why should not we say so too ? 



60 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 



MADGE'S SONGS. 



When the gled's in the blue cloud, 

The lavrock lies still ; 
When the hound's in the green wood, 

The hind keeps the hill. 



O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said. 
When ye suld rise and ride ? 

There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade, 
Are seeking where ye hide. 



Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers. 
Dub a dub, dub a dub ; 

Have at old Beelzebub,.... 
Oliver's running for fear. 



I glance like the wildfire through country and town ; 
I'm seen on the cause way.... I'm seen on the down ; 
The lightning that flashes so bright and so free, 
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonnie as me. 



Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee ; 
1 prithee, dear moon, now show to me 
The form and the features, the speech and degree, 
Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. 



WAVERLE^ POETRY. 61 

Vm Madge of the country, Pm Madge of the town, 
And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own.... 
The lady of Beever in diamonds may shine, 
But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. 

I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, 
And I lead the bright ring round the May-pole to-day ; 
The wild-fire that flashes so wild and so free, 
Was never so briofht or so bonnie as me. 



What did ye wi' the bridal ring.... bridal ring.,.. bridal 



ring ? 



What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty 

quean 0? 
I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, 
I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine O. 



It is the bonny butcher lad. 
That wears the sleeves of blue. 

He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
On Friday that he slew. 



There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald wood, 
There's harness glancing sheen ; 

There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae. 
And she sings loud between. 



62 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 

m 

My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard, 

Sae far ayont the sea, 
And it is but my blithsome ghaist 

That's speaking now to thee. 



Up in the air, 
On my bonnie grey mare, 
And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. 



He that is down need fear no fall, 
He that is low, no pride ; 

He that is humble ever shall 
Have God to be his guide. 

Fulness to such, a burthen is. 

That go on pilgrimage ; 
Here little, and hereafter bliss, 

Is best from age to age. 



Our work is over.... over now, 
The goodman wipes his weary brow. 
The last long wain wends slow away, 
And we are free to sport and play. 

The night comes on when sets the sun, 
And labor ends when day is done. 
When autumn's gone, and winter's come, 
We hold our jovial harvest home. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 63 

In the bonny cells of Bedlam, 

Ere I was ane and twenty, 
I had hempen bracelets strong, 
And merry whips, ding dong, 

And prayer and fasting plenty. 

When the fight of grace is fought,.... 
When the marriage vest is wrought,.... 
When Faith has chased cold Doubt away, 
And Hope but sickens at delay,.... 
When Charity, imprisoned here. 
Longs for a more expanded sphere,.... 
Doff thy robes of sin and clay ; 
Christian, rise, and come away ! 



Cauld is my bed. Lord Archibald, 
And sad my sleep of sorrow^ ; 

But thine sail be as sad and cauld. 
My fausse true-love ! to-morrow. 

And weep ye not, my maidens free. 
Though death your mistress borrow ; 

For he for whom I die to-day. 
Shall die for me to-morrow. 



Proud Masie is in the wood, 
Walking so early ; 



64 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Sweet Eobin sits on the bush, 
Singing so rarely. 

Tell me, thou bonny bird, 
When shall I marry me ? 

*When six brae gentlemen 
Kirkward shall carry ye.' 

M, Jit, -^ JiU -^ •itf 

"Tr w •T?' •75" •??• 1r 

Who makes the bridal bed, 
Birdie, say truly ? 

* The grey-headed sexton 
That delves the grave duly.' 
ji^ ^ ^ ^ 

W "fv* "Tv" "Tv" 

' The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
Shall light thee steady. 

The owl from the steeple sing, 
' Welcome, proud lady.' 



JENNY DEANS TO THE QUEEN. 

I beseech you. 

These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands woo 

you. 
That never yet were heaved but to things holy.... 
Things like yourself.. ..You are a God above us ; 
Be as a God then, full of saving mercy I 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 65 



THE SCOTCHMAN'S RETURN HOME. 

AT the sight of Dumbarton once again, 
I'll cock up my bonnet and march amain, 
With my claymore hanging down to my heel, 
To whang at the bannocks of barley-meal. 



A BATTLE WAS FOUGHT. 

SOME say that we wan, some say that they wauj 
And some say that nane wan at a', man ; 

But of ae thing I'm sure, that on Sheriff-muir 
A battle there was that I saw, man. 



LUCY ASHTON'-S SONG. 

LOOK not thou on beauty's charming.* 
Sit thou still when kings are arming.... 
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens.. 
Speak not when the people listens.... 
Stop thine ear against the singer.... 
From the red gold keep thy finger.... 
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye..,. 
Easy live^ and quiet die. 



LAW, take thy victim. ...May she find the mercy 

In yon mild heaven, which this hard world denies her ! 

F-2 



66 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



NOW horse and hattock, cried the laird, 
Now horse and hattock speedilie ; 

They that winna ride for Telfer's kye, 
Let them never look in the face o' me* 



Happy thou art ! then happy be, 
Nor envy me my lot ; 

Thy happy state I envy thee, 
And peaceful cot. 



THE Monk must arise when the matins ring, 
The Abbot may sleep to their chime ; 

But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing, 
'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time. 

There's bucks and raes on Bilhope braes. 
There's a herd on Shortwood shaw ; 

But a lily white doe in the garden goes. 
She's fairly worth them a'. 



SUMPTUOUS ENTERTAINMENT. 

LET them have meat enough, woman.... half a hen ; 
There be old rotten pilchards.... put them off too ; 
'Tis but a little new anointing of them, 
And a strong onion, that confounds the savor* 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 67 



ACTIVITY. 

AY, and when huntsmen wind the merry horn, 

And from its covert starts the fearful prey, 

Who, warm'd with youth's blood in his swelling veins, 

Would, like a lifeless clod, outstretched lie, 

Shut out from all the fair creation offers. 



Should I take aught of you ? 'Tis true 1 begg'd now, 
And what is worse than that, I stole a kindness ; 
And, what is worst of all, I lost my way in't. 



NOW, Billy Bewick, keep good heart, 
And of thy talking let me be ; 

But if thou art a man, as I am sure thou art. 
Come over the dike and fi^ht with me. 



HUMAN UNCERTAINTY. 

AS, to the Autumn breeze's bugle 'sound, 

Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round ; 

Or, from the garner-door, on ether borne, 

The chaff flies devious from the winnowed corn : 

So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven. 

From their fixed aim are mortal counsels driven. 



68 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



SORRY CHEER. 

THE hearth in hall was black and dead, 
No board was dight in bower within, 

Nor merry bowl, nor welcome bed ; 
*' Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne. 

WORLDLY BENEVOLENCE. 

WE worldly men, when we see friends and kinsmen 

Past hope sunk in their fortunes, lend no hand 

To lift them up, but rather set our feet 

Upon their heads to press them to the bottom. 

As I must yield with you I practis'd it ; 

But now I see you in a way to rise, 

I can and will assist you. 



# 



MERCENARY FATHER^ 

Here is a father now, 

Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, 
Make her the stop-gap to some cankered feud, 
Or fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes, 
To appease the sea at highest. 



SYMPATHY IN VICE. 

AND Need and Misery, and Vice and Danger, bind, 
In sad alliance, each degraded mind. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 69 



PERSEVERANCE. 



WHY now I have Jame Fortune by the forelock, 
And if she escapes my grasp the fault is mine ; 
He, that hath buffeted with stern adversity, 
Best knows to shape his course to favoring breezes. 



THE CAVALIER'S CHORUS. 
TO see good corn upon the rigs, 
And a gallows built to hang the Whigs, 
And the right restored where the right should be, 
O that is the thing that would wanton me. 



PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 

. . . . . . . I do too ill in this. 

And must not think but that a parent's plaint 
Will move the heavens to pour forth misery 
Upon the head of disobediency. 
Yet reason tells us, parents are o'erseen. 
When with too strict a rein they do hold in 
Their child's affection, and control that love, 
Which the high powers divine inspire them with. 



WO, wo, son of the Lowlander, 
Why wilt thou leave thine own bonny Border ? 
Why comes thou hither, disturbing the Highlander, 
Wasting the glen that was once in fair order ? 



70 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 



THE TRAVELLERS. 

DARK on their journey loured the gloomy day, 
Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way ; 
More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful, showed 
The mansion, which received them from the road. 



THE DISMAL CASTLE. 

IS this thy castle, Baldwin ? Melancholy 
Displays her sable banner from the donjon, 
Darkening the foam of the whole surge beneath. 
Were I a habitant, to see this gloom 
Pollute the face of Nature, and to hear 
The ceaseless sound of wave, and sea-bird's scream, 
I'd wish me in the hut that poorest peasant 
E'er framed, to give him temporary shelter. 



THE EVIL PLOTTER. 

FOR close designs and crooked counsels fit, 
Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit. 
Restless, unfixed in principle and place. 
In power unpleased, impatient in disgrace. 



PREDESTINATION. 
HE that's sure to perish on the land 
May quit the nicety of card and compass, 
And truyt the open sea without a pilot. 



VYAVERLEY POETRY. 71 



SNATCH, BY DALGETTY. 

WHEN the cannons are roaring, lads, and the colors 

are flying, 
The lads that seek honor must never fear dying ; 
Then, stout cavaliers, let us toil our brave trade in, 
And fight for the gospel, and the bold king of Sweden. 



SWORD AND PEN. 

BUT if no faithless action stain 
Thy true and constant word, 

I'll make thee famous by my pen, 
And glorious by my sword. 

I'll serve thee in such noble ways 
As ne'er were known before ; 

ril deck and crown thy head with bays, 
And love thee more and more. 



FLODDEN FIELD. 

SUCH mountains steep, such craggy hills 
His army on one side enclose ; 

The other side great grisly gills 

Did fence with fenny mire and moss. 

Which, when the Earl understood, 
He counsel craved of captains ail, 



72 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Who bade set forth with mournful mood, 
And take such fortune as would fall. 



THE PROPHECY. 

WHEN the last Laird of Eavenswood to Eavenswood 

shall ride, 
And woo a dead maiden to be his bride, 
He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow. 
And his name shall be lost for evermoe. 



HOME IS HOME. 

SIE, stay at home and take an old man's counsel ; 
Seek not to bask you by a stranger's hearth ; 
Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fire. 
Domestic food is wholesome, though 'tis homely, 
And foreign dainties poisonous, though tasteful. 



GAELIC MELODY. THE NIGHT MARE. 

BIEDS of omen, dark and foul, 
INight-crow, raven, bat, and owl, 
Leave the sick man to his dream.... 
All night long he heard your scream.... 
Haste to cave and ruined tower. 
Ivy tod, or dingled bower. 
There to wink and mope, for hark! 
In the mid air sings the lark. 



AVAVERLEY POETRY, 73 



Hie to Moorish gills and rocks, 
Prowling wolf and wily fox,.... 
Hie you fast, nor turn your view, 
Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. 
Couch your trains, and speed your flight, 
Safety parts with parting night ; 
And, on distant echo borne, 
Comes the hunter's early horn. 



The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams ; 
Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; 
Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay. 
That scare the pilgrim on his way. 
Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and fen, 
Thy torch, that cheats benighted men ; 
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done. 
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 



Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark and deep, 
O'erpower the passive mind in sleep, 
Pass from the slumberer's soul away, 
Like night-mists from the brow of day ;.... 
Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim. 
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb, 
Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! 
Thou dar'st not face the godlike sun. 



74 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



DONALD ' S WAR TUNE. 
Piobrachet au Donuil-dhu, 
Piobrachet au Donuil, 
Piobrachet agus S'breittach 
Feacht en Innerlochy. 

The war-tune of Donald the Black, 

The war-tune of Black Donald, 

The pipes and the banner 

Are up in the rendezvous of Inverlochy. 



THE ASPIRANT ' S PLEA. 

AND yet he thinks. ...ha, ha, ha, ha.. ..he thinks 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 
Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create, 
I'll shape myself a way to higher things. 
And who will say 'tis wrong ? 



THE PERSECUTED JEW. 

THUS, like the sad, presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man's passport in her hollow beak. 
And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 
Vexed and tormented runs poor Barrabas, 
With fatal curses towards these Christians. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 75 



PURE AFFECTION. 

AFTER you're gone, 

I grew acquainted with my heart, and searched 
What stirred it so. Alas ! I found it love. 
Yet far from lust, for could I but have lived 
In presence of you, I had had my end. 



ANNOT LYLE ' S SONG. 

WERT thou, like me, in life's low vale, 
With thee how blest that lot I'd share ; 

With thee I'd fly wherever gale 

Could waft, or bounding galley bear. 

But, parted by severe decree, 

Far different must our fortunes prove ; 

May thine be joy.... enough for me 
To weep and pray for him I love. 

The pangs this foolish heart must feel, 
When hope shall be for ever flown, 

No sullen murmur shall reveal, 
No selfish murmurs ever own. 

Nor will I, through life's weary years, 
Like a pale drooping mourner move, 

While I can think my secret tears 
May wound the heart of him I love. 



76 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



LADIES' EYES. 

GAZE not upon the stars, fond sage, 
In them no influence lies ; 

To read the fate of youth or age, 
Look on my Helen's eyes. 

Yet, rash astrologer, refrain, 

Too dearly would be won 
The prescience of another's pain, 

If purchased by thine own. 



THE ORPHAN MAID. 

NOVEMBER'S hail-cloud drifts away, 

November's sunbeam wan 
Looks coldly on the castle grey, 

When forth comes Lady Anne. 

The orphan by the oak was set. 
Her arms, her feet, were bare ; 

The hail-drops had not melted yet. 
Amid her raven hair. 

" And, dame," she said, *' by all the ties 
That child and mother know. 

Aid one who never knew these joys.... 
Relieve an orphan's wo." 

The lady said, " An orphan's state 
Is hard and sad to bear ; 



WAVERLEY POETRY. t7 

Yet worse the widowed mother's fate, 
Who mourns both lord and heir. 

Tvvelv^e times the rolling year has sped 

Since, when from vengeance wild 
Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 

Forth's eddies whelm'd my child." 

** Twelve times the year its course has borne," 

The wandering maid replied ; 
** Since fishers on Saint Bridget's morn 

Drew nets on Campsie side. 

Saint Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; 

An infant, well nigh dead, 
They saved, and rear'd in want and toil, 

To beg from you her bread." 

The orphan maid the lady kissed.... 

*' My husband's looks you bear ; 
Saint Bridget and her morn be blest ! 

You are his widow's heir." 

They 've robed that maid, so poor and pale, 

In silk and sandals rare ; 
And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, 

Are glistening in her hair. 



BE it better, be it worse. 

Be ruled by him that has the purse. 
G2 



78 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



ROWENA. 

IN the midst was seen 

A lady of a more majestic mein, 

By stature and by beauty marked their sovereign queen* 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

T^ •Jv ^1* 'Tr "T^ "Tt* 

And as in beauty she surpassed the choir, 
So nobler than the rest was her attire ; 
A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow, 
Plain without pomp, and rich without a show ; 
A branch of agnus castus in her hand, 
She bore aloft her symbol of command* 



THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. 
1 
HIGH deeds achieved of knightly fame, 
From Palestine the Champion came ; 
The cross, upon his shoulders borne. 
Battle and blast had dimmed and torn. 
Each dint upon his battered shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 
And thus, beneath his lady's bower, 
He sung, as fell the tv/ilight hour r 

2 

** Joy to the Fair ! thy knight behold^ 
Returned from yonder land of gold ; 



WaVERLEY poetry. 79 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can needj 
Save his good arms and battle-steed ; 
His spurs to dash against a foe, 
His lance and sword to lay him low j 
Such, all the trophies of his toil, 
Such. ...and the hope of Tekla's smile ! 



Joy to the Pair ! whose constant knight 
Her favor fired to feats of might ; 
Unnoted shall she not remain 
Where meet the bright and noble train | 
Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell.... 
' Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 
*Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Ascalon ! 

4 . 

* Note well hei* smile !....it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 
When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell, 
Iconium's turbaned soldan fell. 
See'st thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow ? 
Twines not of them one golden thread, 
But for its sake a Paynim bled/ 



80 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

5 

" Joy to the Fair !....my name unknown, 
Each deed, and all its praise, thine own j 
Then O unbar this churlish gate, 
The night-dew falls, the hour is late. 
Inured to Syria's glowing breath, 
I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 
Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 
And grant him bliss who brings thee fame/' 



DEATH OF THE WICKED. 

APPROACH the chamber, look upon his bed* 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky. 

Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew, 

Is winged to heaven by good men's sighs and tears ! 

Anselm parts otherwise. 



LAW AND ORDER. 

TRUST me, each state must have its policies. 
Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 
Even the wild outlaw, in his forest walk, 
Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. 
For not since Adam wore his verdant apron,. 
Hath man with man in social union dwelt, 
But laws were made to draw that union closer. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 81 



THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

I'LL give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 
To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain; 
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 

2 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, 

And is brought home at even-song prick'd through with 

a spear ; 
I confess him in haste. ...for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. 



Your monarch ?... .Pshaw, many a prince has been 

known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar ? 



The Friar has walked out, and where'er he has gone, 
The land and its fatness is marked for his own ; 
He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires, 
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's. 



He's expected at noon, and no wight, till he comes, 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums ; 



82 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, 
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 



He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot, 
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot ; 
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, 
Ere he lacked a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 



Long flourish the sandal, the cord and the cope, 
The dread of the devil, and trust of the pope ! 
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar, 
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 



FANATICISM. 



AROUSE the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts. 
Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 
Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 



THE JEW. 

THIS wandering race, severed from other men, 
Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 
The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt, 
Find them acquainted with their secret treasures ; 
And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms. 
Display undreamt-of powers when gathered by them. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 83 



WAR SONG OF THE HEATHEN SAXONS. 
1 

WHET the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist ! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling ! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist ! 



The black cloud is low over the thane's castle ; 

The eagle screams. ...he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth, 

The race of Hengist wdll send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla ! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed, head. 



84 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle, 
The black clouds gather round ; 
Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! 
The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest a- 

gainst them, 
He, the bright consumer of palaces, 
Broad waves he his blazing banner, 
Eed, wide, and dusky. 
Over the strife of the valiant ; 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers ; 
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm 

from the wound ! 

4 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 

The strong armor is pierced by the lance ; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish I 

The race of Hengist is gone.... 

The name of Horsa is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword ! 

Let your blades drink blood like Avine ; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, 

By the light of the blazing halls I 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 85 



And spare neither for pity nor fear, 
For vengeance hath but an hour ; 
Strong hate itself shall expire ! 
I also must perish. 



SEEMING. 

SAY not my art is fraud.. ..all live by seeming. 
The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming. 
The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. All admit it, 
All practise it ; and he who is content 
With showing what he is, shall have small credit 
In church, or camp, or state.... So wags the world. 



THE MIDDLE AGES. 
STERN was the law, which bade its votaries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 
Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; 
But sterner still when high the iron rod 
Of tyrant power she shook, and called that power of 
God. 



H 



That without which a thing is not, 
Is Co.usa sine q7ia non. 



86 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



ETTRICK FOREST. 

AWAY ! our journey lies through dell and dingle. 
Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, 
Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, 
Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley 
Up, and away !....for lovely paths are these 
To tread when the glad Sun is on his throne ; 
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 



THE EVENING HYMN. 

WHEN autumn nights were long and drear, 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 
How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn ! 
Devotion borrows Music's tone, 

And Music took Devotion's wing, 
And, like the bird that hails the sun, 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 



THE LADY'S ESCORT. 
A TRAIN of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting (so their scattered words discovered, 
As unperceived I hung upon their rear) 
Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 87 



REBECCA >S HYMN. 

WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 
Her fathers' God before her moved, 

An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
By day, along the astonished lands, 

The cloudy pillar glided slow; 
By night, Arabia's crimson sands 

Eeturned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answered keen, 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 

With priest's and warrior's voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 
Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen ! 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
4.nd O, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent night. 
Be Thou, long-suflfering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 



88 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams, 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, The blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, an humble thought, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice. 



A DESERTED CASTLE. 
ALAS, how many hours and years have passed, 
Since human forms have round this table sate, 
Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleamed ! 
Methinks I hear the sound of time long past 
Still murmuring o'er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the lingering voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 



THE UNPROFITABLE PRIEST. 

A PRIEST, ye cry, a priest !....lame shepherds they, 
How shall they gather in the straggling flock ? 
Dumb dogs which bark not.... how shall they compel 
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? 
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire. 
And snufl* the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, 
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. 



VV^AVERLEl? POETRY. 89 



VIRELAI. BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

ANNA-MARIE, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, 
Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 
Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 
Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, 
The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, 
The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 
'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 

WAMBA. 

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, 
Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; 
For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 
Compared with these visions, Tybalt, my love ! 
Let the birds, to the rise of the mist, carol shrill, 
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. 
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove.... 
But think not I dreamed of thee, Tybalt, my love. 



PROVERB. 

NORMAN Saw on English oak, 

,0n English neck a Norman Yoke ; 

Norman Spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish ; 

Blithe world to England never will be more, 

Till England's rid of all the four. 



do WAVERLIY POETRIf. 



SONG.... THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

THERE came three merty men from south, tvest, and 
north, 

Evermore sing the roundelay ; 
To win the widow of Wycombe forth, 

And where was the widow might say them nay ? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came. 

Evermore sino^ the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame< 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, 
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire. 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

The nejct that came forth, swore by blood and by nailsj, 

Merrily sing the roiindelay ; 
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of 
Wales, 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rice, quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 
And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 
Jollily singing his roundelay j 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 91 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent, 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 

There for to sing their roundelay ; 
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 



VERSATILITY. 
THE hottest horse will oft be cool, 

The dullest will show fire ; 
The friar will often play the fool, 

The fool will often play the friar* 



•IMITATION OF HORACE. 

" Ne sit ancillae tibi amor pudori," &c» 

TAKE thou no scorn. 
Of fiction born 

Fair fiction^s muse to woo ; 
Old Homer's theme 
Was but a dream. 

Himself a fiction too. 



THE FORAY. 
THEY lighted down on Tweed water, 

And blew their coals sae het, 
And fired the March and Teviotdale, 

All in an evening late. 



92 WAVERLEY POETRY* 



THE DEAD WAKE. 

I FOUND them winding of Marcello's corpse.., 
And there was such a solemn melody, 
'Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies.... 
Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, 
Are wont to outwear the night with. 



FUNERAL HYMN. 

Dust unto dust, 

To this all must; 
The tenant hath resigned 

The faded form 

To waste and worm.... * 
Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of wo, 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place. 

By Mary^s grace. 
Brief may thy dwelling be ! 

Till prayers and alms, 

And holy psalms. 
Shall set the captive free. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 93 



THE MONKS. 
0, AY ! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mischief ! 
Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition 
Of a most gross and superstitious age.... 
May He he praised that sent the healthful tempest, 
And scattered all these pestilential vapors ; 
But, that we owed them all to yonder Harlot, 
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, 
I will as soon helieve, with kind Sir Roger, 
That old Moll White took wing with cat and broomstick, 
And raised the last night's thunder. 



HALBERT GLENDENING. 
IN yon lone vale his early youth was bred, 
Not solitary then.... the bugle-horn 
Of fell Alecto often waked its windings, 
From where the brook joins the majestic river, 
To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt, 
Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. 



REFORMATION. 

NOW let us sit in conclave. That these weeds 
Be rooted from the vineyard of the church. 
That these foul tares be severed from the wheat, 
We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how to do this. 
Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine plants. 
Craves good advisement. 



94 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



SONG OF THE WHITE LADY. 
1 

MERRILY swim we, the moon shines bright, 

Both current and ripple are dancing in light. 

We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak, 

As we plashed along beneath the oak 

That flings its broad branches so far and so wide. 

Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. 

" Who wakens my nestlings," the raven he said, 

" My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ; 

For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal. 

And I'll have my share with the pike and the eel." 

2 
Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. 
There's a golden gleam on the distant height ; < 
There's a silver shower on the alders dank, 
And the drooping willows that wave on the bank. 
I see the Abbey, both turret and tower. 
It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 
The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, 
But where's Father Philip should toll the bell ? 

3 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 
Downward we drift through shadow and light. 
Under yon rock the eddies sleep, 
Calm and silent, dark and deep. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 95 

The Kelpie has risen from the fathomless pool, 
He has lighted his candle of death and of dool ; 
Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see 
How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee ! 

4 

Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to-night ? 

A man of mean, or a man of might ? 

Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, 

Or lover, who crosses to visit his love ? 

Hark ! heard ye the Kelpie reply as we passed,.... 

* God's blessing on the warder, he lock'd the bridge fast, 

All that come to my cove are sunk. 

Priest or layman, lover or monk.' 

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Landed.. ..landed ! the black book hath won. 
Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun ! 
Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be. 
For seldom they land that go swimming with me. 



THE WHITE LADY TO THE SUB-PRIOft. 

GOOD evening. Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, 
With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide ; 
But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er hill, 
There is one that has warrant to wait on you still. 
Back, back, 



96 WAYERLEY POETRY. 

The volume black ! 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho, Sub-Prior ! and came you but here 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier ? 
Sain you, and save you, be wary and wise, 
Ride back with the book, or you'll pay for your prize. 

Back, back. 

There's death in the track ! 
In the name of my master, 1 bid thee bear back. 

^ ^ ^ ;>£. 

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That which is neither ill nor well, 
That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, 
A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 
'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ; 

A form that men spy 

With the half-shut eye, 
In the beams of the setting sun, am I. 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right ! 
Like the star when it shoots I can dart thro' the night ; 
I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air, 
And travel the world with the bonny night-mare. 

Again, again. 

At the crook of the glen, 
Where bickers the burnie, I'll meet thee again. 

# # ^ # # # 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 97 

Men of good are bold as sackless, 
Men of rude are wild and reckless. 

Lie thou still 

In the nook of the hill, 
For those be before thee that wish thee ill. 

^t, -iL. •V' -^ ^ 

-K" W W 'Tf- W 

Thank the holly-bush 
That nods on thy brow ; 
Or with this slender rush 
I had strano^led thee now. 



HALBERT'S INCANTATION. 

THRICE to the holly brake.. 

Thrice to the well ;.... 
I bid thee awake, 

White Maid of Avenel ! 
Noon gleams on the lake, 

Noon glows on the fell, 
Wake thee, wake, 

White Maid of Avenel. 



HALBERT AND THE WHITE LADY. 

Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me ? 
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee ? 
He that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear nor 
failing ; 



98 AVAVEKLEY POETRY. 

To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts are 

unavailing. 
The breeze that brought me hither now must sweep 

Egyptian ground, 
The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound ; 
The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my 

stay. 
For I must sail a thousand miles before the close of day. 



What I am I must not show.... 
What I am thou couldst not know.... 
Something betwixt heaven and hell, 
Something that neither stood nor fell.... 
Something that, through thy wit or will, 
May work thee good.. ..may w^ork thee ill. 
Neither substance quite, nor shadow. 
Haunting lonely moor and meadow, 
Dancing by the haunted spring. 
Riding on the \vhirl wind's wing ; 
Aping, in fantastic fashion, 
Every change of human passion, 
While o'er our frozen minds they pass. 
Like shadows from the mirror'd glass. 
Wayward, fickle, is our mood. 
Hovering betwixt bad and good. 
Happier than brief-dated man, 
Living twenty times his span ; 



W.^VERLEY POETRY. 99 

Far less happy, for we -have 

Help nor hope beyond the grave ! 

Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; 

Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. 

This is all that I can show.... 

This is all that thou may'st know. 

THE WHITE LADY REPROVES HALBERT. 

Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell, 
To waken me here by the Fairies' Well. 
But thou hast loved the heron and hawk, 
More than to seek my haunted walk ; 
And thou hast loved the lance and the sword, 
More than good text and holy word ; 
And thou hast loved the deer to track, 
More than the lines and the letters black ; 
And thou art a ranger of moss and of wood. 
And scornest the nurture of gentle blood. 

Thy craven fear my truth accused. 
Thine idlehood my trust abused ; 
He that draws to harbour late, 
Must sleep without, or burst the gate. 
There is a star for thee which burned. 
Its influence wanes, its course is turned ; 
Valor and constancy alone 
Can bring thee back the chance that's flown. 
=^ # ^ # # 



100 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 

THE BIBLE. 

Within that awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries ! 
Happiest they of human race, 
To whom God has granted grace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray. 
To lift the latch, and force the way ; 
And better bad they ne'er been born. 
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. 

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Many a fathom dark and deep 
I have laid the book to sleep ; 
Ethereal fires around it glowing — 
Ethereal music ever flowing — 

The sacred pledge of Heaven 
All things revere. 
Each in his sphere. 

Save man for whom 'twas given. 
Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy 
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 

SHE BECKONS HALBEllT TO ACCOMPANY HER. 

Fearest thou to go with me ? 
Still it is free to thee 

A peasant to dwell ; 
Thou may'st drive the dull steer, 
And thase the king's deer, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 101 

But never more come near 
This haunted well. 

HALBERT DESCENDS WITH THE LADY TO THE CRYSTAL COVE, 
WHERE, AMID LIVING FLAME, LFES THE BIBLE UNCONSUMED. 

Here lies the volume thou boldly hast sought ; 
Touch it, and take it, 'twill dearly be bought. 

Re THRUSTS HIS HAND INTO THE FLAME AND BURNS HIS ARM. 

Rash thy deed, 
Mortal weed 
To immortal flames applying ; 
Rasher trust 
Has thing of dust, 
On his own weak worth relying* 
Strip thee of such fences vain. 
Strip, and prove thy luck again. 

The LADY PASSED HER COLD HAND OVER HIS ARM AND INSTANT- 
LY RESTORED IT. 

Mortal warp and mortal woof 
Cannot brook this charmed roof ; 
All that mortal art hath wrought 
In our cell returns to nought. 
The molten gold returns to clay. 
The polish'd diamond melts away ; 
All is altered, all is flown. 
Nought stands fast but truth alone. 
Not for that thy quest give o'er ; 
1 2 Courage ! prove thy chance once more. 



102 wavehley poetry. 

HE SEIZES THE BOOKj AND SHE SEIZES HIS HAND, AND BOTH A3* 
CEND TO THE UPPER AIR, WHERE THE LADY VANISHES. 

Alas ! alas ! 

Not ours the grace 

These holy characters to trace ; 

Idle forms of painted air, 

Not to us is given to share 
The boon bestowed on Adam's race. 

With patience bide, 

Heaven will provide 

The fitting time, the fitting guide* 



EDUCATION. 
V"OIJ call this education, do you not ? 
Why, 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks 
Before a shouting drover. The glad van 
Move on at ease, and pause awhile to snatch 
A passing morsel from the dewy greensward, 
While all the bloWs, the oaths, the indignation, 
Pall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard 
That cripples in the rear. 



TH£ STOtT MILLER. 
THE miller Was of manly make, 

To meet him was na mows ; 
There durst na ten come him to take, 

Sae noited he their pows» 



WAVE RLE Y POETRY. M3 



VARIETY. 

Nay, let me have the friends, who eat my victuals, 
As various as my dishes. The feast's nought 
Where one huge plate predominates. John Plaintext, 
He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; 
The worthy Alderman, a buttered dumpling ; 
Yon pair of whiskered Cornets, ruffs and rees ; 
Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. 
And so the board is spread at once and filled 
On the same principle — Variety. 



THE EXaUISlTE COURTIER. 

A COURTIER extraordinary, who by diet 
Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, 
Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts 
Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize 
Mortality itself, and makes the essence 
Of his whole happiness the trim of court. 



INVOKING THE SPIRITS OP AIR. 

I'LL seek for other aid. Spirits, they say, 
Flit round invisible, as thick as motes 
Dance in the sunbeam. If that spell 
Or necromancer's sigil can compel them, 
They shall hold counsel with me. 



104 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



SECOND INTERVIEW BETWEEN HALBERT AND THE 
WHITE LADY. 

THIS is the day when the fairy kind 

Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, 
And the woodmaiden sighs to the sighing wind, 

And the mermaiden weeps in her crystal grot ; 
For this is the day that a deed was wrought, 

In which we have neither part nor share, 
For the children of clay was salvation bought, 

But not for the forms of sea or air. 
And ever the mortal is most forlorn. 
Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn, 
jt ^ ^ ^ 

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Daring youth ! for thee it is well, 
Here calling me in haunted dell. 
That thy heart has not quailed, 
Nor thy courage failed, 
And that thou couldst brook 
The angry look 
Of Her of Avenel. 

Did one limb shiver, 

Or an eyelid quiver, 

Thou wert lost for ever. 
Though I am formed from the ether blue, 
And my blood is of the unfallen dew. 
And thou art framed of mud and dust, 
*Tis thine to speak — reply I must. 



WAYERLEY POETRY. 105 

A CHANGE HAS COME OVER HALBERT, HE DEMANDS THE CAUSE. 

A mightier wizard far than I 

Wields o'er the universe his power ; 

Him owns the eagle in the sky, 
The turtle in the bower. 

Changeful in shape, yet mightier still, 

He wields the heart of man at will, 

From ill to good, from good to ill, 
In cot and castle-tower. 

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Ask thy heart, whose secret cell 
Is filled with Mary Avenel ! 
Ask thy pride, why scornful look 
In Mary's view it will not brook ? 
Ask it why thou seek'st to rise 
Among the mighty and the wise, — 
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot, — 
Why thy pastimes are forgot, — 
Why thou wouldst in bloody strife 
Mend thy luck, or lose thy life ? 

Ask thy heart, and it shall tell. 

Sighing from its secret cell, 

'Tis for Mary Avenel. 

HE ASKS HOW HE SHALL DISCLOSE HIS PASSION. 

Do not ask me ; 

On doubts like these thou canst not task me. 



106 WAVEKLKY TOETRY. 

We only see the passing show 
Of human passions' ebb and flow ; 
And view the pageant's idle glance 
As mortals eye the northern dance, 
When thousand streamers, flashing bright, 
Career it o'er the brow of night, 
And gazers mark their changeful gleams, 
But feel no influence from their beams. 

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By ties mysterious linked, our fated race 
Holds strange connexion with the sons of men. 
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, 
When Norman Ulrick first assumed the name, 
That star, when culminating in its orbit, 
Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew, 
And this bright Font received it — and a Spirit 
Eose from the fountain, and her date of life 
Hath co-existence with the House of Avenel, 
And with the star that rules it. 



Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold — 
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer, 
And, but there is a spell on't, would not bind, 
Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe. 
But when it was donn'd, it was a massive chain, 
Such as might bind the champion of the Jews, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 107 

Even when his locks were longest. It hath dwindled, 
Hath 'minished in its substance and its strength, 
As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel. 
When this frail thread gives way, I to the elements 
Resign the principles of life they lent me. 
Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. 

HALBERT ASKS HER TO REVEAL THE FATE OF HIS PASSION. 

Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, 

Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh. 

And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the lighthouse ; 

There is an influence, sorrowful and fearful, 

That dogs its downw^ard course. Disastrous passion, 

Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect 

That lowers upon its fortunes. 

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Complain not of me, child of clay, 
If to thy harm I yield the way. 
We who soar thy sphere above, 
Know not aught of hate or love ; 
As will or wisdom rules thy mood, 
My gifts to evil turn or good. 

SHE TAKES FROM HER LOCKS A SILVER BODKIN, AND PRESENTS 

IT TO HALBERT. 

When Piercie Shafton boasteth high, 
Let this token meet his eye. 
The sun is westering from the dell, 
Thy wish is granted^ — Fare thee well. 



108 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



SUPERSTITION. 

THERE'S something in that ancient superstition, 

Which, erring as it is, our fancy loYes. 

The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbles, 

Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock 

In secret solitude, may well be deemed 

The haunt of something purer, more refined. 

And mightier than ourselves. 



THE CHALLEINGE. 
I HOPE you'll give me cause to think you noble, 
And do me right with your sword, sir, as becomes 
One gentleman of honor to another ; 
All this is fair, sir — let us make no days on't, 
I'll lead your way. 



HONOR OR WEALTH. 

NOW choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honor ; 
There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through 
The dance of youth, and the turm.oil of manhood, 
Yet leave enough for age's chimney corner ; 
But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! 
Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition, 
And raising thy low rank above the churls 
That till the earth for bread ! 



WAVEKLEY POETRY. 109 



THE EUPHUIST. 
HE strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new phrases, 
And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded counters, 
Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in payment. 

LINES BY SIR PIERCIE SHAFTON. 
WHAT tongue can her perfections tell, 
On whose each part all pens may dwell. 

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Of whose high praise and praiseful bliss, 
Goodness the pen. Heaven paper is ; 
The ink immortal fame doth send, 
As I began so I must end. 

^ -^ ^ ^ ^ 

Ah, rest ! — no rest but change of place and posture ; 
Ah, sleep ! — no sleep but worn-out Nature's swooning ; 
Ah, bed ! — no bed but cushion filled with stones ; 
Rest, sleep, nor bed, await not on an exile. 



THE INEXPERT. 

Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! he doth it not 

Like one who is his craft's master — ne'ertheless, 

I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb 

On one who was a master of defence. 
K 



110 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

ARISTOCRACY. 

NOW, by our lady, Sheriff, 'tis hard reckoning 
That I, with every odds of birth and barony, 
Should be detained here for the casual death 
Of a wild forester, whose utmost having 
Is but the brazen buckle of the belt 
In which he sticks his hedge-knife. 



THE WHITE LADY IN HALBERT'S CHAMBER. 

HE whose heart for vengeance sued. 
Must not shrink from shedding blood ; 
The knot that thou hast tied with word, 
Thou must loose by edge of sword. 

^ ^ ^ ^ jfcj 

TV- "3^ T^ -TR- T^ 

You have summoned me once — you have summoned 

me twice. 
And without e'er a summons I come to you thrice ; 
Unasked for, unsued for, you came to my glen, 
Unsued and unasked, I am with you again 



TIME. 



NAY, dally not with time, the wise man's treasure, 
Though fools are lavish on't. The fatal Fisher 
Hooks souls, while we waste moments. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. Ill 



REMUNERATION. 
I GIVE thee eighteenpence a day, 

And my bow shalt thou bear, 
And over all the north country 

I make thee the chief rydere. 
And I thirteenpence a day, quoth the queen, 

By God and by my faye ; 
Come fetch thy payment when thou wilt, 

No man shall say thee nay. 



THE DUELLIST. 

YES, life hath left him — every busy thought, 
Each fiery passion, every strong affection. 
All sense of outward ill and inward sorrow, 
Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; 
And I have given that, which spoke and moved, 
Thought, acted, suffered, as a living man, 
To be a ghastly form of bloody clay. 
Soon the foul food for reptiles. 

REMORSE. 

'TIS when the wound is stiffening with the colu. 
The warrior first feels pain — 'tis when the heat 
And fiery fever of his soul is past, 
The sinner feels remorse. 



112 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 



THE TANGLED CASE. 

NOW, on my faith, this gear is all entangled, 
Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter, 
Dragged by the frolic kitten through the cabin. 
While the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire — 
Masters, attend ! 'twill crave some skill to clear it. 



PRUDENCE. 

I'LL walk on tiptoe ; arm my eye with caution, 
My heart with courage, and my hand with weapon, 
Like him who ventures on a lion's den. 



BORDER BALLAD, 

1 

MARCH, march, Ettricke and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 

Many a banner spread, 

Flutters above your head, 
Many a crest that is famous in story. 

Mount and make ready then, 

Sons of the mountain glen, 
Fight for the Queen, and the old Scottish glory. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 113 

2 

Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, 

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe ; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, 
Come with the buckler, the lance and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeds are bounding. 
Stand to your arms then, and march in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 



THE WHITE LADY AND MARY AVENEL. 

MAIDEN, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, 

Whose eyes shall commune with the Dead Alive, 
Maiden, attend !... .Beneath my foot lies hid 

The Word, the Law, the Path, which thou dost strive 
To find, and canst not find. Could Spirits shed 

Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep, 
Showing the road which I shall never tread. 

Though my foot points it. Sleep, eternal sleep, 
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness, my lot ! — 

But do not thou at human ills repine ; 
Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot 

For all the woes that wait frail Adam's line. 
Stoop then and make it yours. ..I may not make it mine. 

K2 



114 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



HOW TO PROTECT THE CHURCH. 

IT is not texts will do it.. ..Church artillery 

Are silenced soon by real ordnance, 

And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. 

Go, coin your crozier, melt your church plate down, 

Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls, 

And quaff your long-saved hogsheads. Turn them out 

Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall, 

And they will venture for't. 



THE STUDENT. 



AT school I knew him — a sharp witted youth. 
Grave, thoughtful, and reserved among his mates, 
Turning the hours of sport and food to labor, 
Starving his body to inform his mind. 



LOVER TURNED FRIAR. 

THEN in m-y gown of sober grey 
Along the mountain path I'll wander, 

And wind my solitary way 
To the sad shrine that courts me yonder. 

There, in the calm monastic shade, 
All injuries may be forgiven ; 

And there for thee, obdurate maid, 
My orisons shall rise to heaven. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 115 



THE WHITE LADY AND EDWARD GLENDENING. 

Thou who seek'st my fountain lone, 
With thoughts and hopes thou darest not own ; 
Whose heart within leaped wildly glad, 
When most his brow seemed dark and sad ; 
Hie thee back, thou find'st not here 
Corpse nor coffin, grave nor bier ; 
The Dead Alive is gone and fled — 
Go thou and join the Living Dead ! 

The Living Dead, whose sober brow 

Oft shrouds such thoughts as you have now, 

Whose hearts within are seldom cured 

Of passions by their vows abjured ; 

Where, under sad and solemn show, 

Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow* 

Seek the convent's vaulted room, 

Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; 

Doff the green, and don the grey, 

To the cloister hence away ! 



A WONDER. 
YOU call it an ill angel — it may be so ; 
But sure I am, among the ranks which fell, 
'Tis the first fiend e'er counselled man to rise* 
And win the bliss himself had forfeited. 



116 \VAVERLEY POETHY. 



THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL. 

PARE thee well, thou Holly green ! 
Thou shalt seldom now be seen, 
With all thy glittering garlands bending, 
As to greet my slow descending, 
Startling the bewildered hind, 
Who sees thee wave without a wind. 

Farewell, Fountain ! now not long 
Shalt thou murmur to my song. 
While thy crystal bubbles glancing, 
Keep the time in mystic dancing. 
Rise and swell, are burst and lost. 
Like mortal schemes by fortune crost. 

The knot of Fate at length is tied, 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride ! 
Vainly did my magic sleight 
Send the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
Fallen is lofty Avenel ! 



THE UNTIRED. 

AND when he came to broken briggs, 
He slacked his bow and swam ; 

And when he came to grass growing, 
Let down his feet and ran. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 117 



CONSPIRACY. 

NOT the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier — 
Not the wild wind escaping from its cavern — 
Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together, 
And pours their rage upon the ripening harvest, — • 
Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful meeting - 
Comic, yet fearful — droll, and yet destructive. 



POLITICAL PATRONAGE. 

In the wild storm 

The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant 
Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd precious ; 
So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions. 
Cast off their favorites. 



THE RUINED PrIONASTERY. 

THE sacred tapers' lights are gone. 
Grey, moss has clad the altar stone, 
The holy image is o'erthrown. 

The bell has ceased to toll. 
The long-ribbed aisles are burst and shrunk, 
The holy shrines to ruin sunk. 
Departed is the pious monk, 

God's blessing on his soul ! 



118 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE FOUNDLING. 

HOW steadfastly he fixed his looks on me — 
His dark eyes shining through forgotten tears — 
Then stretched his little arms and called me mother ! 
What could I do ? I took the bantling home — 
I could not tell the imp he had no mother. 



FAMILY SECRETS. 

THOU hast each secret of the household, Francis. 
I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery 
Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale, 
And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting 
With the glib waiting-woman o'er her comfits — 
These bear the key to each domestic mystery. 



THE FORESTER. 

AND rather would Allan in dungeon lie, 
Than live at large where the falcon cannot fly ; 
And Allan would rather lie in Sexton's pound. 
Than live where he follow'd not the merry hawk and 
hound. 



THE OATH. 
Kneel with me — swear it — 'tis not in words I trust, 
Save when they're fenced with an appeal to Heaven. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 119 



SONG OP THE ABBOT OF UNREASON. 

THE Paip, that pagan full of pride, 

Hath blinded us ower lang, 
For where the blind the blind doth lead, 
No marvel baith gae wrang. 
Like prince and king 
He led the ring 

Of all iniquity. 
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 
Under the greenwood tree. 

The bishop rich, he could not preach 

For sporting with the lasses, 
The silly friar behoved to fleech 
For awmous as he passes. 
The curate, his creed 
He could not read. 

Shame fa' the company ! 
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 
Under the greenwood tree. 

The Friars of Fail drank berry-brown ale, 
The best that e'er was tasted ; 

The Monks of Melrose made gude kale 
On Fridays, when they fasted. 



120 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 

Saint Monance' sister, 
The grey priest kissed her, 

Fiend save the company ! 
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 

Under the greenwood tree. 

From haunted spring and grassy ring, 

Troop goblin, elf, and fairy ; 
And the kelpie must flit from the black bog pit, 
And the brownie must not tarry ; 
To Limbo lake 
Their way they take, 

With scarce the pith to flee. 
Sing hay trix, trim-go-trix, 
Under the greenwood tree. 



PROGRESS OF LIFE. 

YOUTH ! thou wear'st to manhood now, 

Darker lip and darker brow, 

Statelier step, more pensive mien 

In thy face and gait are seen ; 

Thou must now brook midnight watches, 

Take thy food and sport by snatches ; 

For the gambol and the jest. 

Thou wert w^ont to love the best, 

Graver follies must thou follow. 

But as senseless, false and hollow. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 121 



POVERTY. 
WHEN I hae a saxpence under my thumb, 
Then I get credit in ilka town ; 
But when I am poor, they bid me gae bye, 
O poverty parts good company. 



LIFE ' S SPRING-TIME. 
LIFE hath its May, and it is mirthful then ; 
The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odor ; 
Its very blast has mirth in't, — and the maidens, 
The while they don their cloaks to skreen their kirtles, 
Laugh at the rain that wets them. 



A BROTHER'S CLAIM. 
NAY, hear me, brother.. ..I am elder, wiser, 
And holier than thou.... And age, and wisdom. 
And holiness, have peremptory claim^s. 
And will be listened to. 



THE REFORMERS. 



What, Dagon up again ! I thought w^e had hurled him 
Down on the threshold, never more to rise. 
Bring wedge and axe ; and, neighbors, lend your hands, 
And rive the idol into winter faggots. 



122 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

PASSION. 

IN some breasts passion lies concealed and silent, 
Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, 
Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it ; 
Then comes at once the lightning and the thunder, 
And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. 

A PRISONER ' S REFLECTIONS. 

'TIS a weary life this .... 
Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me, 
And my sad hours spent with as sad companions, 
Whose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mischances, 
Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. 

4A, ^ ^ ^ <^ 

•Tf' •ft* "TV* Tv" W 

Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, 
Coarse as you will the cooking — Let the fresh spring 
Bubble beside my napkin — and the free birds, 
Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to bough. 
To claim the crums I leave for perquisites — 
Your prison feasts I like not. 



'TWIXT Wigton and the town of Ayr, 
Portpa trick and the cruives of Cree, 

No man need think for to bide there, 
Unless he court Saint Kennedie. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 123 



DELUSION. 

IT IS and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for, 

Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life for. 

And yet it is not — no more than the shadow 

Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror, 

Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance 

Which it presents in form and lineament. 



DOUBTFULNESS. 

, The sky is clouded, Gaspard, 

And the vexed ocean sleeps a troubled sleep, 
Beneath a lurid gleam of parting sunshine. 
Such slumber hangs o'er discontented lands, 
While factions doubt, as yet, if they have strength 
To front the open battle. 



BEREAVEMENT. 
NOW have you reft me from my staff, my guide, 
Who taught my youth, as men teach untamed falcons. 
To use my strength discreetly — I am reft 
Of comrade and of counsel ! 



IT is a time of danger, not of revel, 
When churchmen turn maskers. 



124 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE RELIGIOUS QUACK'S ADVERTISEMENT. 

LISTNETH, gode people, everiche one, 
For in the londe of Babylone, 
Far eastward I wot it lyeth, 
And is the first londe the sonne espieth, 
Ther, as he cometh fro out the se ; 
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me, 
Eight as holie legendes tell, 
Snottreth from a roke a well, 
And falleth into ane bath of ston, 
Wher chast Susanne in times long gon, 
Was wont to wash her bodie and lim — 
Mickle vertue hath that streme, 
As ye shall se er that ye pas, 
Ensample by this little glas — 
Through nightes cold and dayes bote, 
Hiderward I have it brought ; 
Hath a wife made slip or slide, 
Or a maiden stepp'd aside, 
Putteth this water under her nese. 
Wold she nold she, she shall snese. 



MY maids, come to my dressing bower, 
And deck my nut-brown hair ; 
Where'er ye laid a plait before, 
Look ye lay ten times mair. 



WAVERtE^ POETRY. 125 



DISHONOR. 



YES, it is she whose eyes looked on thy childhood, 
And watched, with trembling hope, thy dawn of youth, 
That now, with these same eyeballs dimmed with age, 
And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonor. 



THE WAGER. 
NAY, I'll hold touch — the game shall be play'd out, 
It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager ; 
That which I say when gamesome, I'll avouch 
In my most sober m.ood, ne'er trust me else. 



THE PATERNAL GUARDIAN. 

AY, Pedro, — Come you here with mask and lantern, 
Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools — 
Why, youngster, thou mayst cheat the old Duenna, 
Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet ; 
But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, 
Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, 
And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty. 



O SOME do call me Jack, sweet love, 
And some do call me Gill ; 

But when I ride to Holyrood, 
My name is Wilful Will. 



L2 



126 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



DEATH. 
DEATH distant ? No, alas ! he's ever with us, 
And shakes the dart at us in all our actings. 
He lurks within our cup, while we're in health ; 
Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; 
We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel, 
But Death is by to seize us when he lists. 



LOVE AND REASON. 
AND when Love's torch hath set the heart in flame, 
Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cautions, 
Giving such aid as the old greybeard Sexton, 
Who from the church-vault drags his crazy engine. 
To ply its dribbling, ineffectual streamlet 
Against a conflagration. 



BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY. 

O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 
They were twa bonnie lasses ; 

They biggit a house on yon burn-brae, 
And theekit it ower wi' rashes. 

Fair Bessy Bell I loo'd yestreen. 
And thought I ne'er could alter, 

But Mary Gray's twa pawky een 
Have garr'd my courage falter. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 127 



GOLDTHRED'S SONG. 

OF all the birds on bush or treej 

Commend me to the owl, 
Since he may best ensample be 
To those the cup that trowl. 
For when the sun hath left the west, 
He chooses the tree that he loves the best, 
And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest ; 
Then, though hours be late, and weather foul, 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. 

The lark is but a bumpkin fowl. 
He sleeps in his nest till morn ; 
But my blessing upon the jolly owl, 
That all night blows his horn. 
Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech. 
And match me this catch, till you swagger and screech, 
And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; 
For, though hours be late, and weather be foul. 
We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. 



HAZARDS OF A CROWN. 
AY, sir — our ancient crown, in these wild times, 
Oft stood upon a cast — the gamester's ducat. 
So often staked, and lost, and then regained. 
Scarce knew so many hazards^ 



128 WAVERLEY POETRl?. 



THE JOLLY INNKEEPER. 

I AM an innkeeper, and know my grounds, 
And study them : Brain o'man, I study them* 
1 must have jovial guests to drive my ploughs, 
And whistling boys to bring my harvests homCj 
Or 1 shall hear no flails thwack. 



ANTHONY FOSTER. 
NOT serve two masters ? — Here's a youth will try it- 
Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; 
Says grace before he does a deed of villany, 
And returns thanks devoutly when it is acted. 



VARNEY. 

He was a man 

Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. 
The needle pointed ever to that interest 
Which was his lode-star, and he spread his sails 
With vantage to the gale of others' passion. 



HE mounted himself on a coal-black steed, 

And her on a freckled grey, 
With a bugelet horn hung down from his side ; 

And roundly they rode away. 



WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 129 



EARL OF LEICESTER. 

THIS is he 

Who rides on the court gale ; controls its tides ; 
Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; 
Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. 
He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance, 
His colors are as transient. 



THE RIVALS. 
THIS is rare news thou tellest me, my good fellow ; 
There are two bulls fierce battling on the green 
For one fair heifer — if the one goes down, 
The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, 
Which have small interest in their brulziement, 
May pasture there in peace. 



AMY ROBSART AT KENIL WORTH. 

HARK ! the bells summon, and the bugle calls, 

But she the fairest answers not. The tide 
Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, 

But she the loveliest must in secret hide. 
What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam 

Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense, 
That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem, 

And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence. 



130 WAVE RLE Y POETRY. 



LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE. 
NOW, God be good to me in this wide pilgrimage ! 
All hope in human aid I cast behind me. 
Oh, who would be a woman ! — who that fool, 
A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman ? 
She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest, 
And all her bounties only make ingrates. 



PANDEMONIUM. 
WHAT, man, ne'er lack a draught, when the full cann 
Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying ! 
Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight 
To watch men's vices, since I have myself 
Of virtue nought to boast of. Fm a striker, 
Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all. 



SIR ROGER ROBSART. 

HE was the flower of Stoke's red field. 

When Martin Swart on ground lay slain ; 

In raging rout he never reeled. 

But like a rock did firm remain. 



IN my time I have seen a boy do wonders. 
Robin, the red tinker, had a boy 
Would ha' run throu2:h a cat-hole. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 131 



QUEEN ELIZABETH'S VISIT TO KENILWORTH. 

NOW bid the steeple rock.. ..she comes, she comes ! 
Speak for us, bells !... speak for us, shrill-tongu'd tuckets ! 
Stand to thy linstock, gunner ! let thy cannon 
Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe 
Came stretch 'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ramparts. 
We will have pageants too. But that craves wit, 
And I'm a rough-hewn soldier. 



What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones ? 
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones ! 
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; 
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. 
Yet soft. ...Nay stay....What vision have we here ? 
What dainty darling's this ?.... what peerless peer ? 
What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold. 
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? 
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake. 
My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. 
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ; — 
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as 
this ! 



GENTLE deed 
Makes gentle bleid. 



132 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



LEICESTER AND HIS COUNTESS. 

HERE stands the victim.. ..there the proud betrayer, 
E'en as the hind pulled down by strangling dogs 
Lies at the hunter's feet.... who courteous proffers 
To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, 
To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, 
To gash the sobbing throat. 



" TO ERR IS HUMAN." 
THE wisest sovereigns err like private men, 
And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword 
Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder, 
Which better had been branded by the hangman. 
What then? Kings do their best.... and they and we 
Must answer for the intent, and not the event. 



A NORTHERN TEMPEST. 
THIS is no pilgrim's morning.... yon grey mist 
Lies upon hill, and dale, and field, and forest, 
Like the dun wimple of a new-made widow ; 
And, by my faith, although my heart be soft, 
I'd rather hear that widow weep and sigh. 
And tell the virtues of the dear departed, 
Than, when the tempest sends his voice abroad. 
Be subject to its fury. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 133 



NORNA ' S INVOCATION TO THE TEMPEST. 
1 

STERN eagle of the far north-west, 

Thou that hearest in thy grasp the thunderbolt, 

Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, 

Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of navies, 

Amidst the scream of thy rage. 

Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, 

Tho' thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation, 

Tho' the rushing of thy wings be like the roar of ten 

thousand waves, 
Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste. 
Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar ! 



Thou hast met the pine trees of Drontheim, 
Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their up- 
rooted stems ; 
Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, 
The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, 
And she has struck to thee the topsail 
That she had not veil'd to a royal armada ; 
Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among the 
clouds. 

The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former days, 
M 



134 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

And the cope-stone of the turret 

Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; 

Bat thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller ot clouds, 

When thou hearest the voice of the Eeim-kennar. 

3 

There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest, 
Ay, and when the dark colored dog is opening on his 

track ; 
There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the 

wing. 
Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses, 
And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler ; 
Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drowning 

mariner, 
And the crash of the ravaged forest, 
And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds. 
When the church hath fallen in the moment of prayer ; 
There are sounds which thou also must list, 
When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim-ken- 

nar. 

4 

Enough of wo hast thou wrought on the ocean, 
The widows wring their hands on the beach ; 
Enough of wo hast thou wrought on the land, 
.The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; 
Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 135 

Let the ocean repose in her dark strength ; 
Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, 
Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory of Odin ; 
Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north- 
western heaven, 
Sleep thou at the voice of Noma the Reim-kennar. 

5 

Eagle of the far north-western waters, 

Thou hast heard the voice of the Eeim-kennar, 

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, 

And folded them in peace by thy side. 

My blessing be on thy retiring path ! 

When thou stoopest from thy place on high, 

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown 

ocean, 
Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee ; 
Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of 

the Reim-kennar ! 



THE PEDLAR. 
THIS is a gentle trader, and a prudent — 
He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye 
With quips of worldly gauds and gamesomeness ; 
But seasons all his glittering merchandize 
With wholesome doctrines suited to the use, 
As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. 



136 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

THE OCEAN. 

SHE does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; 
Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb 
AfTords the mariners whom she hath dealt on, 
Their death at once, and sepulchre. 



SYMPATHIES. 

'TIS not alone the scene. ...the man, Anselmo, 
The man finds sympathies in these wild wastes 
And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views 
And smoother waves deny him. 



MARY. 



Farewell to Northmaven, 

Grey Hillswicke, farewell ! 
To the calms of thy haven. 

The storms on thy fell — 
To each breeze that can vary 

The mood of thy main. 
And to thee, bonny Mary ! 

We meet not again. 

Farewell the wild ferry, 
Which Hacon could brave. 

When the peaks of the Skerry 
Were white in the wave. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 137 

There's a maid may look over 

These wild waves in vain 
For the skiff of her lover — 

He comes not again. 

The vows thou hast broke, 

On the wild currents fling them ; 
On the quicksand and rock 

Let the mermaiden sing them* 
New sweetness they'll give her 

Bewildering strain ; 
But there's one who will never 

Believe them again. 

were there an island, 

Though ever so wild, 
Where woman could smile, and 

No man be beguiled — 
Too tempting a snare 

To poor mortals were given ; 
And the hope would fix there, 

That should anchor on heaven. 



PARENTAL LOVE. 
PARENTAL love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom, 
And is the charm which, like the falconer's lure, 
Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spirits. 
So, when famed Prosper© doff'd his magic robe, 
It was Miranda plucked it from his shoulders. 

M2 



138 VrAVERLEY POETRY, 



REFORMATION. 
. . . . All your ancient customs, 
And long-descended usages, I'll change. 
Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move. 
Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do ; 
Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation ; 
The bride shall have the stock, the groom the wall ; 
For all old practice will I turn and change, 
And call it reformation — marrv, will I ! 



CONSERVATISM. 

WE '11 keep our customs. "What is law itself, 
But old established custom ? What religion, 
(I mean with one half of the men that use it) 
Save the good use and wont that carries them 
To worship how and where their fathers worshiped ? 
All things resolve in custom — we'll keep ours. 



SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER. 

THE sun is rising dimly red, 
The wind is wailing low and dread ; 
From his cliff the eagle sallies, 
Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys ; 
In the midst the ravens hover, 
Peep the wild dogs from the cover, 



AVAVERLEY POETRY. 139 

Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, 
Each in his wild accents telling, 
*' Soon we feast on dead and dying, 
Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying." 

Many a crest in air is streaming, 
Many a helmet darkly gleaming, 
Many an arm the axe uprears, 
Doomed to hew the wood of spears. 
All along the crowded ranks 
Horses neigh and armor clanks ; 
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, 
Louder still the bard is singing, 
** Gather, footmen, gather, horsemen, 
To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! 

Halt ye not for food or slumber. 
View not vantage, count not number ; 
Jolly reapers, forward still ; 
Grow the, crop on vale or hill, 
Thick or scattered, stiff' or lithe, 
It shall down before the scythe. 
Forward with your sickles bright, 
Reap the harvest of the fight — 
Onward, footmen, onward, horsemen, 
To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen ! 



140 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Fatal choosers of the slaughter, 

O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; 

Hear the choice she spreads before ye, — 

Victory, and wealth, and glory ; 

Or old Valhalla's roaring hail, 

Her ever-circling mead and ale, 

Where for eternity unite 

The joys of wassail and of fight. 

Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, 

Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen I 



TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. 
HIGH o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 
And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows..,. 
So truth prevails o'er falsehood. 



DUET. . . .MERMAID AND MERMAN. 

MERMAID. 

FATHOMS deep, beneath the wave, 

Stringing beads of glistering pearl, 
Singing the achievements brave 

Of many an old Norwegian earl ; 
Dwelling where the tempest's raving 

Falls as light upon our ear, 
As the sigh of lover, craving 

Pity from his lady dear, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 141 

Children of wild Thule, we, 
From the deep caves of the sea, 
As the lark springs from the lea, 
Hither come to share your glee. 

MERMAN. 

From reining of the water-horse, 

That bounded till the waves were foaming, 
Watching the infant tempest's course, 

Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; 
From winding charge-notes on the shell. 

When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, 
Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell. 

When the winds and waves are cruel ; 
Children of wild Thule, we. 
Have ploughed such furrows on the sea, 
As the steer draws on the lea. 
And hither we come to share your glee. 

MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 

We heard you in our twilight caves, 

A hundred fathom deep below. 
For notes of joy can pierce the waves. 

That drown each sound of war and wo. 
Those who dwell beneath the sea • 

Love the sons of Thule well ; 
Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 

Dance, and song, and sounding shell. 



142 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Children of dark Thule, know, 
Those who dwell by haaf and voe. 
Where your daring shallops row, 
Come to share the festal show. 



THE WHALE ASHORE. 

THEY man their boats, and all the young men arm 
With whatsoever might the monsters harm ; 
Pikes, halberds, spits, and darts, that wound afar, 
The tools of peace and implements of war. 
Now was the time for vigorous lads to show 
What love or honor could incite them to ; 
A goodly theatre, where rocks are round. 
With reverend age and lovely lasses crowned. 



NORNA'S SONG. 

FOR leagues along the watery way, 
Through gulf and stream my course has been ; 

The billows know my Runic lay. 
And smoothed their crests to silent green. 

The billows know my Runic lay, — 
The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; 

But human hearts more wild than they, 
Know but the rule of wayward will. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 143 

One hour is mine, in all the year, 

To tell my woes, — and one alone ; 
When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here, — 

When dies the mystic light, 'tis gone. 

Daughters of northern Magnus, hail ! 

The lamp is lit, the flame is clear, — 
To you I come to tell my tale. 

Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! 



LOST IMAGININGS. 

BUT lost to me, for ever lost those joys, 
Which reason scatters, and which time destroys. 
No more the midnight fairy train I view, 
All in the merry moonlight tippling dew. 
Even the last lingering fiction of the brain, 
The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again. 



THE WAIF. 

FOR equal right in equal things doth stand, 
And what the mighty sea hath once possessed, 

And plucked quite from all possessors' hands, 
Or else by wrecks that wretches have distressed, 

He may dispose, by his resistless might, 
As things at random left, to whom he (istc 



144 WAVERLE Y POETRY. 

NORNA'S INCANTATION. 

Dwellers of the mountain, rise, 
Trolld the powerful, Haims the wise I 
Ye who taught weak woman's tongue 
Words that sway the wise and strong, — 
Ye who taught weak woman's hand 
How to wield the magic wand, 
And wake the gales on Foulah's steep, 
Or lull wild Sumburgh's waves to sleep ! 
Still are ye yet ? Not yours the power 
Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. 
What are ye now, but empty names, 
Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims I 
That, lightly spoken, lightly heard, 
Float on the air like thistle's beard ? 



TROLLD THE DWARF TO NORNA. 

A THOUSAND winters dark have flown, 
Since o'er the threshold of my stone 
A votaress passed, my power to own. 

Visiter bold 

Of the mansion of Trolld, 
Maiden haughty of heart, 

Who hast hither presumed, 

TJngifted, undoomed, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 145 

Thou shalt not depart ; 
The power thou dost covet 
O'er tempest and wave, 
Shall be thine, thou proud maiden, 
By beach and by cave,— - 
By stack, and by skerry, by noup, and by voe, 
By air, and by wick, and by helyer and gio. 
And by every wild shore which the northern winds know 

And the northern tides lave. 
But tho' this shall be given thee, thou desperately brave, 
I doom thee that never the gift thou shalt have, 
Till thou reave thy life's giver 
Of the gift which he gave. 



NORNA'S ANSWER. 

DARK are thy words, and severe, 

Thou dweller in the stone ; 
But trembling and fear 

To her are unknown, 
Who hath sought thee here, 

In thy dwelling lone. 
Come what comes soever. 

The worst I can endure ; 
Life is but a short fever, 

And death is the cure. 

N 



146 WAVERLEY POETRY 

CLAUD HALCRO AND NORNA. 

CLAUD HALCRO SPEAKS FOR THE UDALLER. 

MOTHER darksome, Mother dread, 

Dweller on the Fitful-head, 

Thou canst see what deeds are done 

Under the never-setting sun. 

Look through sleet and look through frost, 

Look to Greenland's caves and coast, — 

By the ice-berg is a sail 

Chasing of the swarthy whale ; 

Mother doubtful, mother dread, 

Tell us, has the good ship sped ? 

NORNA. 

The thought of the aged is ever on gear ; 
On his fishing, his furrow, his^ flock, and his steer ; 
But thrive may his fishing, ficck, furrow, and herd. 
While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey beard. 

^ J^, JL, Jt- JjZ; 

■T^ -Tr •TV- IT- -Tl* 

The ship, well laden as bark need be, 

Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; 

The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, 

And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft ; 

Seven good fishes have spouted their last, 

And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and to mast ; 

Two are for Lerwick, and two. for Kirkwall, — 

Three for Burgh Westra, the choicest of all. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 147 



CLAUD HALCRO. 



Mother doubtful, mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
Thou hast conn'd full many a rhyme, 
That lives upon the surge of time : 
Tell me, shall my lays be sung. 
Like Hacon's of the golden tongue. 
Long after Halcro's dead and gone ? 
Or shall Hialtland's minstrel own 
One note to rival glorious John ? 

NORNA. 

The infant loves the rattle's noise ; 
Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; 
But different far the descant rings, 
As strikes a different hand the strings. 
The eagle mounts the polar sky — 
The imber-goose, unskilled to fly, 
Must be content to glide along. 
Where seal and sea-dog list his song. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Be mine the imber-goose to play, 
And haunt lone cave, and silent bay ; 
The archer's aim so shall I shun — 
So shall I 'scape the levelled gun — 



143 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Content my verses' tuneless jingle, 
With Thule's sounding tides to mingle, 
While to the ear of wondering wight, 
Upon the distant headland's height, 
Softened by murmur of the sea, 
The rude sounds seem like harmony ! 



CLAUD HALCRO SPEAKS FOR CLEVELAND, 

Mother doubtful, mother dread, 

Dweller of the Fitful-head, 

A gallant bark from far abroad, 

Saint Magnus hath her in his road. 

With guns and firelocks not a few — 

A silken and a scarlet crew, 

Deep stored with precious merchandize, 

Of gold and goods of rare device — 

What interest hath our comrade bold 

In bark, and crew, in goods and gold ? 

NORNA. 

Gold is ruddy, fair, and free; 
Blood is crimson, and dark to see. 
I looked out on Saint Magnus bay. 
And I saw a falcon that struck her prey ; 
A gobbit of flesh in her beak she bore, 



WMVERLEY POETRY. 149 

And talons and singles are dripping with gore ; 
Let him that asks after them look on his hand, 
And if there is blood on't, he's one of their band. 



CLAUD HALCROo 



Mother doubtful, mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
Well thou know'st it is thy task 
To tell what Beauty will not ask ; 
Then steep thy words in wine and milk, 
And weave a doom of gold and silk, — 
For we would know, shall Brenda prove 
In love, and happy in her love ?||f 



Untouched by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Eona's crest, 
High seated in the middle sky, 
In bright and barren purity ; 
But by the sunbeam gently kissed, 
Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis missed, 
Ere, down the lonely valley stealing, 
Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, 
It cheers the flock, revives the flower. 
And decks some happy shepherd's bower. 



1«0 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



MAGNUS TROIL 



Mother speak, and do not tarry, 
Here's a maiden fain would marrv. 
Shall she marry, ay or not ? 
If she marry, what's her lot ? 



JJORNA. 



Untouched by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Eona's crest ; 
So puro, so free from earthly dye. 
It seems, whilst leaning on the sky. 
Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ; 
But passion, like the wild March rain. 
May soil tne wreath with many a stain« 
We gaze. ...the lovely vision's gone... 
A torrent fills the bed of stone. 
That hurrying to destruction's shock, 
Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. 



THE GOOD-NIGHT- 

THERE was shaking of hands and sorrow of heart, 
For the hour was approaching when merry folks must 

part; 
So we called for our horses, and asked for our way, 
While the jolly old landlord said, ' Nothing's to pay/ 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 1M 



THE FISHERMEN'S DITTY. 

FAREWELL, merry maidens, to song and to laugh, 
For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the haaf ; 
And we must have labor, and hunger, and pain, 
Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again* 

For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal, 
We must dance on the waves with the porpoise and;seal, 
The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high, 
And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by, 

Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee, 
By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the sVvarms of the sea I 
And when twenty score fishes are straining our line, 
Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine. 

We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing when we haul, 
For the deeps of the haaf have enough for us all ; 
There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle, 
And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earL 

Huzza, m.y brave comrades ! give way for the haaf, 
We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh ; 
For life without mirth is a lamp without oil. 
Then mirth and long life to the bold Magnus TroiL 



152 WAVERLEY POETRY- 



CLEVELAND'S SERENADE. 

1 

LOVE wakes and weeps, 

While Beauty sleeps ! 
for Music's softest numbers, 

To prompt a theme 

For Beauty's dream, 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! 



Through groves of palm 

Sigh gales of balm, 
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 

While through the gloom 

Comes soft perfume. 
The distant beds of flowers revealing* 



O wake and live ! 

No dream can give 
A shadowed bliss, the real excelling ; 

No longer sleep. 

From lattice peep. 
And list the tale that Love is telling* 



WAVERLEY POETRS'. 153 



CLEVELAND'S SONG. 

FAREWELL ! Farewell ! the voice you hear, 
Has left its last soft tone with you, — 

Its next must join the seaward cheer, 
And shout among the shouting crew. 

The accents which I scarce could form 
Beneath your frown's controlling check, 

Must give the word, above the storm, 
To ci^t the mast, and clear the wreck. 

The timid eye I dared not raise,.... 

The hand that shook when pressed to thine,.., 
Must point the guns upon the chase, 

Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 

To all I love, or hope, or fear, 

Honor or own, a long adieu ! 
To all that life has soft and dear, 

Farewell ! save memory of you ! 



THE CORPSE-LIGHT. 

WHEN corpse-light dances bright, 

Be it by day or night. 

Be it by light or dark. 

There shall corpse be stiff and stark. 



154 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



HALCRO ' S NORSE DITTY. 

AND you shall deal the funeral dole ; * 

Ay, deal it, mother mine, 
To weary body, and to heavy soul, 

The white bread and the wine. 

And you shall deal my horses of pride ; 

Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 
And you shall deal my lands so wide. 

And deal my castles nine. , 

But deal not vengeance for the deed, 
And deal not for the crime ; 
The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace, 
And the rest in God's own time. 



HALCRO ' S CONJURATION. 

SAINT Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason ; 
Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason ; 
By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary, 
Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry! 

If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; 

If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ; 

If thou'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee ; 

If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ; 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 155 

If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; 

If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; 

If on middle earth thou'st been 

Slave of sorrow, shame and sin, 

Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, 

And dree'd the lot which men call life ; 
Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin is scant of thee, 
The worm, thy play-fellow, w^ails for the want of thee. 
Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth hide thee, 
Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou 

bide thee ! 
Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross for a token, 
Hence pass till Hallowmas ! My spell is spoken. 



ANCIENT RUINS. 

I DO love these ancient ruins 

We never tread upon them but w^e set 
Our foot upon some reverend history ; 
And, questionless, here, in this open court, 
(Which now lies naked to the injuries 
Of stormy weather,) some men lie interred, 
Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to it, 
They thought it should have canopied their bones 
Till doomsday ; — but all things have their end — 
Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, 
Must have like death w^,hich we have. 



156 WAVERLEY POETEY. 



NORNA'S INCANTATIONS. 

CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, 
Art thou silent, Eibolt Troil ? 
Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, 
Are leaving bare thy giant bones. 
Who dared touch the wild bear's skin 
Ye slumbered on, while life was in ? — 
A woman now, or babe, may come 
And cast the covering from thy tomb. 

Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight 

Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight ! 

I come not, with unhallowed tread, 

To wake the slumbers of the dead, 

Or lay thy giant reliques bare ; 

But what I seek thou well canst spare. 

Be it to my hand allowed 

To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud ; 

Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough 

To shield thy bones from weather rough. 

See, I draw my magic knife — 

Never, while thou wert in life, 

Laid'st thou still for sloth or fear, 

When point and edge were glittering near ; 

See, the cerements now I sever — 

Waken now, or sleep for ever ! 



WAVEELEY POETRY. 157 

Thou wilt not wake ?....the deed is done !.... 
The prize I sought is fairly won. 

Thanks, Eibolt, thanks !....for this the sea 
Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee ; 
And, while afar its billows foam, , 
Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. 
Thanks, Eibolt, thanks !....for this the might 
Of wild winds raging at their height. 
When to thy place of slumber nigh, 
Shall soften to a lullaby. 

She, the Dame of doubt and dread, 
Noma of the Fitful-head, 
Mighty in her own despite, 
Miserable in her might. 
In despair and frenzy great, 
In her greatness desolate, — 
Wisest, wickedest who lives, — 
Well can keep the word she gives. 



NORNA AND MINNA. CHARM TO THE FIRE. 

THOU, so needful, yet so dread, 

With cloudy crest, and wing of red ; 

Thou, without whose genial breath 

The North would sleep the sleep of death ; 
o 



158 WAVERLEY POETRV. 

Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, 
Yet hurPst proud palaces to earth, — 
Brightest, keenest of the Powers, 
Which form and rule this world of ours, 
With my rhyme of Runic, I 

Thank thee for thy agency. 

^ ^ jj; Jt jfc 

TV "Ti" -TV "T*" TV 

TO THE EARTH. 

Old Reim-kennar, to thy art 
Mother Hertha sends her part ; 
She, whose gracious bounty gives 
Needful food for all that lives. 
From the deep mine of the North 
Came the mystic metal forth, 
Doomed, amidst disjointed stones, 
Long to cere a champion's bones, 
Disinhumed my charms to aid — 
Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. 

tP t? tv' tP mr 

TO THE WATER. 

Girdle of our islands dear, 
Element of Water, hear ! 
Thou whose power can overwhelm 
Broken mounds and ruined realm 

On the lowly Belgian strand ; 
All thy fiercest rage can never 
Of our soil a furlong sever 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 159 

From our rock-defended land ; 
Play then gently thou thy part, 
To assist old Noma's art. 

.V, 41. ^ .^ J|e 

'Tf ^ ^ ^ Tv 

Elements, each other greeting. 

Gifts and powers attend your meeting ! 

^ -^ -^ 'Vr •Sfe 

•Jv* TV" TV TV •Tv' 

TO THE WINDS. 

Thou, that over billows dark 
Safely send'st the fisher's bark ; 
Giving him a path and motion 
Through the wilderness of ocean ; 
Thou, that when the billows brave ye. 
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy, — 
Didst thou chafe as one neglected, 
While thy brethren were respected ? 
To appease thee, see, I tear 
This full grasp of grizzled hair ; 
Oft thy breath hath through it sung, 
Softening to my magic tongue, — 
Now 'tis thine to bid it fly 
Through the wide expanse of sky, 
'Mid the countless swarms to sail 
Of wild fowl wheeling on thy gale ; 
Take thy portion and rejoice, — 
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice ' 



160 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

# ^ ^ # ^ # 

She who sits by haunted well 

Is subject to the Nixie's spell ; 

She who walks on lonely beach, 

To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; 

She who walks round ring of green, 

Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 

And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave, 

A weary weird of wo shall have. 

By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, 
Minna Troil has braved all this and more ; 
And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill 
A source that's more deep and more mystical stilL 

KORNA FORETELS MINNA'S FATE. 

Thou art within a Demon's hold. 

More wise than Heims, more strong than TroUd ; 

No siren sings so sweet as he, — 

No fay springs lighter on the lea ; 

No elfin power hath half the art 

To sooth, to move, to wring the heart, — 

Life-blood from the cheek to drain, 

Drench the eye, and dry the vein. 

Maiden ! ere we farther go, 

Dost thou note me, ay or no ? 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 161 

MINNA ANSWERS. 

I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign ; 
Speak on with the riddle.... to read it be mine, 

NORNA. 

Mark me ! for the word I speak 
Shall bring the color to thy cheek* 

This leaden heart, so light of cost, 

The symbol of a treasure lost. 
Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, 
That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may cease, 
When crimson foot meets crimson hand 
In the Martyrs' Aisle, and in Orkney land, 

^ ^ -y? -lr 

Be patient, be patient ! for Patience hath power 
To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; 

A fairy gift you best may hold 

In a chain of fairy gold ; — 
The chain and the gift are each a true token. 
That not without warrant old Noma has spoken ; 
But thy nearest and dearest must never behold them. 
Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them. 



ADVICE TO MAIDENS. 

MENSEFUL maiden ne'er should rise, 
Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 

02 



162 WAVEKLEY poetry. 

Silk-fringed eyelids still should cIosGj 
Till the sun has kissed the rose ; 
Maiden's foot we should not view, 
Marked with tiny print on dew, 
Till the opening flowerets spread 
Carpet meet for beauty's tread. 



THE FORTUNE TELLER. 

SEE yonder woman, whom our swains revere, 
And dread in secret, while they take her counsel 
When sweethearts shall be kind, or when cross dame 

shall die ; 
Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, 
And how the pestilent murrain may be cured. 
This sage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend ; 
Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning 
To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, 
And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. 



CONTINUATION OF AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

NAE langer she wept.. ..her tears were a' spent.... 
Despair it was come, and she thought it content ; 
She thought it content, but her cheek it grew pale, 
And she drooped, like a lily broke down by the haiL 



WAVERLEY fOETRY. 163 



SAILORS ON SHORE* 

WHAT ho, my jovial mates ! come on ! we'll frolic it 
Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, 
Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening, 
Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cellward, — 
He starts and changes his bold bottle swagger 
To churchman's pace professional, and, ransacking 
His treacherous memory for some holy hymn. 
Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. 

THE POWER OF HABIT. 

I STRIVE like to the vessel in the tide-way, 

Which, lacking favoring breeze, hath not the power 

To stem the powerful current. Even so, 

Resolving daily to forsake my vices, 

Habit, strong circumstance, renewed temptation, 

Sweep me to sea again. heavenly breath, 

Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel. 

Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without thee ! 

OUTLAW'S LAW\ 
OF an outlawe, this is the lawe,— 

That men him take and bind, 
Without pitie hanged to be. 

And waive vfith the wind. 



164 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



BRYCE SNAILSFOOT'S ADVERTISEMENT, 

POOR sinners, whom the snake deceives, 
Are fain to cover them with leaves. 
Zetland hath no leaves, 'tis true, 
Because that trees are none, or few ; 
But we have flax and taits of woo', 
For linen cloth and wadmaal blue ; 
And we have many of foreign knacks 
Of finer waft than woo' or flax. 
Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear. 
And bring your Lambmas sisters here, 
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost nor care, 
To pleasure every gentle pair. 



DICK FLETCHER'S SONG. 

IT was a ship, and a ship of fame, 
Launched off* the stocks, bound for the main. 
With a hundred and fifty brisk young men, 
All picked and chosen every one. 

Captain Glen was our captain's name, 
A very gallant and brisk young man ; 
As bold a sailor as e'er went to sea, 
And we were bound for High Barbary. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 165 

CHORUS OF THE PIRATES. 
EOBIN Rover 

Said to his crew, 
Up with the black flag, 

Down with the blue ! 
Fire on the main-top, 

Fire on the bow. 
Fire on the gun-deck, 

Fire down below ! 

ROBBERS' QUARRELS. 
HARK to the insult loud, the bitter sneer. 
The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer ; 
Oaths fly like pistol shots, and vengeful words 
Clash with each other like conflicting swords. 
The robber's quarrel by such sounds is shown. 
And true men have some chance to gain their own. 

LOVE OVERCOMES ALL. 

OVER the mountains, and under the waves, 
Over the fountains, and under the graves, 
Over floods that are deepest. 

Which Neptune obey, 
Over rocks that are steepest, 
Love will find out the way. 



166 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE SCOT IN LONDON. 
NOW Scot and English are agreed, 
And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, 
Where, such the splendors that attend him, 
His very mother scarce had kend him. 
His metamorphosis behold, 
From Glasgow frieze to cloth of gold ; 
His backsword, with the. iron hilt, 
To rapier, fairly hatch'd and gilt. 
Was ever seen a gallant braver ? 
His very bonnet's grown a beaver. 

GEORGE HERRIOT. 
THIS, sir, is one among the Seignory, 
Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth. 
And wit to increase it. Marry, his worst folly 
Lies ia a thriftless sort of charity. 
That goes a gadding sometimes after objects 
Which wise men will not see when thrust upon them. 

* ^ :^ ^ :K' 

Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath oft-times craft in't, 
As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen, 
In's grogram suit, gold chain, and well-black'd shoes, 
Bears under his flat cap oft-times a brain 
Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather. 
Or seethes within the statesn^ian's velvet nightcap. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 167 



THE COURT. 

WHEREFORE come ye not to court ? 
Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; 
There are silks and jewels glistening, 
Prattling fools, and wise men listening, 
Bullies among brave men justling. 
Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; 
Low-breathed talkers, minion lispers, 
Cutting honest throats by whispers ; 
Wherefore come ye not to court ? 
Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. 



THE INaUISITIVE FEMALE. 

AY ! mark the matron well, and laugh not, Harry, 
At her old steeple hat and velvet guard. 
I've called her like the ear of Dionysius ; 
I mean that ear-formed vault, built o'er his dungeon, 
To catch the groans and discontented murmurs 
Of his poor bondsmen. Even so doth Martha 
Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes, 
Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city. 
She can retail it too, if that her profit 
Shall call on her to do so ; and retail it 
For your advantage, so that you can make 
Your profit jump with hers. 



168 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



FATE OF A SUITOR AT COURT. 

SO pitiful a thing is suitor's state ! 
Most miserable man, whom wicked fate 
Hath brought to Court to sue, for Had I loist, 
That few have found, and many a one hath missed ! 
Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried, 
What hell it is, in sueing long to bide ; 
To lose good days that might be better spent ; 
To waste long nights in pensive discontent ; 
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow ; 
To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow ; 
To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her Peers' ; 
To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; 
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares ; 
To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs ; 
To fawn, to crouch, to Wait, to ride, to run, 
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone. 



THE ONE THING NEEDFUL. 

THINGS needful we have thought on ; but the thing 
Of all most needful, — that which Scripture terms, 
As if alone it merited regard. 
The ONE thing needful, — that's yet unconsidered. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 169 



THE STALE WIT. 

0, I do know him, — 'tis the mouldy lemon, 
Which our court wits will wet their lips withal, 
When they would sauce their honied conversation 
With somewhat sharper flavor. Marry, sir. 
That virtue's well nigh left him ; all the juice 
That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out ; 
While the poor rind, although as sour as ever, 
Must season soon the draff we give our grunters, 
For two-legged things are weary on't. 



THE CLUB HOUSE. 
. . . THIS is the very barn-yard, 
Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game, 
Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse, 
And spar about a barley-corn. Here too chickens, 
The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly. 
Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, 
And tune their note like full-plumed chanticleer. 



BIRTH-DAY PROVERB. 

Full moon and high sea, 
Great man shalt thou be ; 
Eed dawning, stormy sky, 
Bloody death shalt thou die. 



170 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



PATIENCE IN DIFFICULTIES. 

LET the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook, 
Then strike, and then you have him. He will wince ; 
Spin out your line that it shall whistle from you 
Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have him. 
Marry ! you must have patience, — the stout rock 
Which is his trust, hath edges something sharp ; 
And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough 
To mar your fishing, 'less you are more careful. 



A LONDON BORE. 

'TWAS when fleet Snowball's head was woxen grey, 
A luckless leveret met him on his way. 
Who knows not Snowball ? — he, whose race renowned, 
Is still victorious on each coursing ground ? 
SvvafTham, Newmarket, and the Roman Camp, 
Have seen them victors o'er each meaner stamp. 
In vain the youngling sought, with doubling wile, 
The hedge, the hill, the thicket, or the stile. 
Experience sage the lack of speed supplied, 
And in the gap he sought, the victim died. 
So was I once, in thy fair street. Saint James, 
Through walking cavaliers, and car-borne dames, 
Descried, pursued, turned o'er again, and o'er, 
Coursed, coted, mouthed by an unfeeling bore. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 171 

DICING AND DRINKING. 

BID not thy fortune troll upon the wheels 
Of yonder dancing cubes of mottled bone \ 
And drown it not, like Egypt's royal harlot, 
Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimmed wine-cup. 
These are the arts, Lothario, which shrink acres 
Into brief yards, bring sterling pounds to farthings, 
Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull. 
Who might have lived an honored, easy life, 
To ruin, and an unregarded grave. 

SELF REDRESS. 

GIVE way — give way — I must and will have justice. 

And tell me not of privilege and place ; 

Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. 

Look to it, every one who bars my access ; 

I have a heart to feel the injury, 

A hand to right myself, and, by my honor, 

That hand shall grasp what greybeard Law denies me. 



AN UNCOAXABLE DOG. 



BINGO, why. Bingo ! hey, hey — here, sir, here., 
He's gone and off, but he'll be home before us ; 
'Tis the most wayward cur e'er mumbled bone, 



172 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Or dogged a master's footstep. Bingo loves me 
Better than ever beggar loved his alms ; 
Yet, when he takes such humor, you may coax 
Sweet mistress Fantasy, your worship's mistress, 
Out of her sullen moods, as soon as Bingo. 



BE JUST, AND FEAR NOT. 

THIS way lies safety and a sure retreat ; 

Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. 

Most w-elcome danger then — Nay, let me say, 

Tho' spoke with swelling heart — welcome e'en shame ; 

And w^elcome punishment. For, call me guilty, 

1 do but pay the tax that's due to justice ; 

And call me guiltless, then that punishment 

Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. 



MIDNIGHT ROBBERS. 

THIS is the time. Heaven's maiden sentinel 
Hath quitted her high watch ; the lesser spangles 
Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder 
And the short lever ; bid Anthony 
Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate ; 
And do thou bare thy knife and follow me, 
For we will in and do it. Darkness like this 
Is dawning of our fortunes. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 173 



MARGARET RAMSAY. 

BY this good light, a wench of matchless mettle ! 
This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier, 
To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow, 
And sing a roundel as she helped to arm him. 
Though the rough foemen's drums were beat so nigh, 
They seemed to bear the burden. 



LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 

Mother, What ! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's mirror, 
With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont. 
Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of passengers-— 
Then laughs to see them stumble ! 

Daughter, Mother ! no — 
It was a lightning flash which dazzled m6, 
And never shall these eyes see true again* 



PITY. 



HOW fares the man on whom good men would look 
With eyes where scorn and censure combated. 
But that kind christian love hath taught the lesson- 
That they, who merit most contempt and hate. 
Do most deserve our pity* 

P2 



lU WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE ALSATIANS. 

COME hither, young one— Mark me ! Thou art now 
'Mongst men o* the sword, that live by reputation 
More than by constant income. Single-suited 
They are, I grant you ; yet each single suit 
Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand followers— 
And they be men, who, hazarding their all, 
Needful apparel, necessary income, 
And human body, and immortal soul. 
Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — 
So strictly is that ALL bound in reversion ; 
Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer, 
And body to disease, and soul to the foul Fiend j 
Who laughs to see Soldadoes and Fooladoes 
play better than himself his game on earth. 



I>ETITION FOR ADMISSION TO ALSATIA. 

YOUR suppliant, by name 
Nigel Grahame, 
In fear of mishap 
From a shoulder-tap ; 
And dreading a claw 
From the talons of law, 

That are sharper than briars ,* 



WAVEKLEY POETRY. 175 

His freedom to sue, '^ 

And rescue by you— 

Through weapon and wit» 

From warrant and writ, 

From bailiff's hand, 

From tipstaff's wand. 

Is come hither to Whitefriars. 



ALSATIAN OATH. 

BY spigot and barrel. 

By bilbo and buff. 
Thou art sworn to the quarrel 

Of the blades of the huff, 
For Whitefriars and its claims 

To be champion or martyr, 
And to fight for its dames 

Like a Knight of the Garter, 



PRIVILEGE OF SANCTUARY. 

From the touch of the tip, 

From the blight of the warrant, 

From the watchmen who skip 
On the Harman Beck's errand ; 

From the bailiff's cramp speech, 
That makes man a thrall, 



176 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

I charm thee from each, 

And I charm thee from all. 
Thy freedom's complete 

As a Blade of the Huff, 
To be cheated and cheat, 

To be cuffed and to cuff; 
To stride, swear, and swagger, 
To drink till you stagger, 

To stare and to stab, 
And to brandish your dagger 

In the cause of your drab ; 
To walk wool-ward in winter, 

Drink brandy, and smoke, 
And go fresco in summer 

For want of a cloak ; 
To eke out your living 

By the wag of your elbow, 
By fulham and gourd, 

And by baring of bilbo ; 
To live by your shifts. 

And to swear by your honor, 
Are the freedom and gifts 

Of which I am the donor. 



WAVEKLEY POETRY. 177 



CHANCE. 



CHANCE will not do the work.... Chance sends the 

breeze ; 
But if the pilot slumber at the helm, 
The very wind that wafts us towards the port 
May dash us on the shelves. The steersman's part is 

vigilance, 
Blow it or rough or smooth. 



DEATH. 

DEATH finds us 'mid our playthings ; snatches us, 
As a cross nurse might do a wayward child, 
From all our toys and baubles. His rough call 
Unlooses all our favorite ties on earth ; 
And well, if they are such as may be answered 
In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. 



THE SILENT FLIGHT. 

GIVE us good voyage, gentle stream ; we stun not 
Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; 
Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks 
With voice of flute and horn ; we do but seek, 
On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom, 
To glide in silent safety. 



178 WAVERLEY POETRY- 

WOMAN ' S C OXFIDENCE. 

CREDIT me, friend, it hath been ever thus, 
Since the Ark rested on Mount Ararat, 
False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed — 
Repented and reproach'd, and then believ'd once more. 

SIGN ON AN ALEHOUSE KEPT BY A BARBER. 

ROVE not from pole to pole — the man lives here 
Whose razor's only equalled by his beer ; 
And where, in either sense, the cockney-put 
May, if he pleases, get confounded cut. 



COLEPEPPER'S ADDRESS TO A MATE. 

THOU son of parchment, got betwixt the ink-horn 
And the stuffed process-bag — that mayest call 

The pen thy father, and the ink thy mother. 
The wax thy brother, and the sand thy sister, 
And the good pillory thy cousin allied — 
Rise, and do reverence unto me, thy better ! 
^ ^ ^o ^ ^ 

And three merry men, and three merry men, 

And three merry men are we, 
As ever did sing three parts in a string, 

All under the triple tree. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 179 



FENELLA. 



. . . . CAN she not speak ? 
If speech be only in accented sounds, 
Framed by the tongue and iips, the maiden's dumb , 
But if by quick and apprehensive look, 
By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meaning, 
Express as clothed in language, be termed speech, 
She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, 
Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse, 
Though it be mute and soundless. 



WAR ON THE VIANDS. 

WHY, then we will have bellowing of beeves, 
Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots ; 
Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore 
Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry, 
Joined to the brave hearts-bteod of John-a-Barleycorn ! 



NO, sir, 1 will not pledge— I'm one of those 
Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface 
To make it welcome. If you doubt my word, 
Fill the quart cup, and see if I will choke on't. 



180 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



PRIDE OF BIRTH. 

MARRY come up, sir, with your gentle blood ; 
Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue doublet, 
That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn 
From the far source of old Assyrian kings, 
Who first made mankind subject to their sw^ay. 



BRAGADOCIA. 

Swash-buckler, Bilboa's the word — 
Pierrot, It hath been spoken too often, 
The spell hath lost its charm. I tell thee, friend. 
The meanest cur that trots the street will turn 
And snarl against your proffered bastinado, 

S, 'Tis art shall do it then — I will dose the mongrels, 
Or, in plain terms, I'll use the private knife 
'Stead of the brandished falchion. 



SIN'S PROGRESS. 

WE are not worst at once. The course of evil 
Begins so slowly, and from such slight source. 
An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay ; 
But let the stream get deeper, and philosophy — 
Ay, and religion too — shall strive in vain 
To turn the headlong torrent. • 



WAVERLEY POETRiT. 181 



HUMAN FRAILTY. 

THE course of human life is changeful still, 

As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; 

Or, like the light dance which the wild breeze weaves 

Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; 

Which now his breath bears down, now tosses high, 

Beats to the earth, or w^afts to middle sky. 

Such, and so varied, the precarious play 

Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day ! 

^ :^ * # 

No human quality is so well wove, • 

In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it. 

I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, 

A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy 

Had well nigh been ashamed on't. For your crafty, 

Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, 

Weaves his own snares so fine, he's often caught in them. 



THE SILENT RECOGNITION. 

WE meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, 

Which glide, and sigh, and sign, and move their lips, 

But make no sound ; or, if they utter voice, 

'Tis but a low and undistinguished moaning, 

Which has nor word nor sense of uttered sound, 
Q 



182 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE POLITICIAN. 

THIS is a lecturer so skilled in policy, 
That (no disparagement to Satan's cunning) 
He well might read a lesson to the devil, 
And teach the old seducer new temptations. 



THE CONVERTED CAVALIER. 

Ye thought in the world there was no power to tame ye, 
So you tippled and drabb'd till the saints overcame ye ; 
"Forsooth," and^" Ne'er stir," sir, have vanquished 
" G— d—n me," 

Which nobody can deny. 

There was bluff old Sir Geoffrey loved brandy and mum 

well. 
And to see a beer-glass turned over the thumb well ; 
But he fled like the wind before Fairfax and Cromwell, 
Which nobody can deny. 



THE ENLISTMENT. 
HERE, hand me down the Statute — read the articles — 
Swear, kiss the book — subscribe, and be a hero ; 
Drawing a portion from the public stock 
For deeds of valor to be done hereafter — 
Sixpence per day, subsistence and arrears. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. Ib3 



SONGS OF THE ORDINARY. 

HEY for cavaliers— ho for cavaliers, 
Pray for cavaliers, 

Dub-a-dub, dub-a-dub, 

Have at old Beelzebuh, 
Oliver shakes in his bier. 



Good even to you, Diccon, 
And how have you sped ? 

Bring you the bonny bride 
To banquet and bed ? 

Content thee, kind Eobin ; 

He needs little care, 
Who brings home a fat buck 

Instead of a hare. 

All joy to great Caesar, 
Long life, love, and pleasure ; 
May the King live forever ! 
'Tis no matter for us, boys. 



HE was a fellow in a peasant's garb ; 

Yet one, could censure you a woodcock's carving 

Like any courtier at the ordinary. 



184 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



NICENESS. 
" Speak not of niceness, when there's chance of wreck," 
The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck 
To see the dying dolphin flap the deck ; 
*' If we go down, on us these gentry sup ; 
We dine upon them, if we haul them up. 
Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters, 
As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the cheaters." 



MERCENARY MARRIAGES. 

PAINTERS show Cupid blind— Hath Hymen eyes ? 
Or is his sight warped by those spectacles 
Which parents, guardians, and advisers lend him, 
That he may look through them on lands and mansions. 
On jewels, gold, and all such rich dotations, 
And see their value ten times magnified ?.... 
Methinks 'twill brook a question. 



THE PREACHER. 



HE came amongst them like a new-raised spirit, 
To speak of dreadful judgments that impend, 
And of the wrath to come. 



WHAT know we of the blest above, 
But that they sing, and that they love ? 



Wi^VERLEY POETRY. 185! 



A DESPAIRING LOVER. 

BUT when he came near, 

Beholding how steep 
The sides did appear, 

And the bottom how deep ; 
Though his suit was rejected, 
He sadly reflected, 
That a lover frrsaken 

A new lova may get ; 
But a neck that's once broken 

Can never be set. 



THE DREAM. 
AND so^ne for safety took the dreadful leap ; 
Some, for the voice of Heaven seemed calling on them ; 
Sorre, for advancement or for lucre's sake ; 
I leaped in frolic. 



CASTLE OF PLESSIS-LES-TOURS. 

FULL in the midst a mighty pile arose. 

Where iron grated gates their strength oppose 

To each invading step — and, strong and steep. 

The battled walls arose, the fosse sunk deep. 

Slow round the fortress rolled the sluggish stream, 

And high in middle air the warder's turrets gleam, 
as 



156 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



ON THE DEATH AND MURDER 

Of Receiver-General William Christian of Ronaldsway, who was 
shot near Hango Hill, 1662. Translated from the Manx. 

IN SO shifting a scene, who would confidence place 
In family power, youth, or in personal grace ? 
No character's proof against enmitv foul ; 
And thy fate, William Dhone, sickens our souL 

You are Derby's receiver of patriot zeal, 
Replete with good sense, and reputed genteel, 
Your justice applauded by the young and the old ; 
And thy fate, &c. 

A kind, able patron both to church and to stav? — 
What roused their resentment but talents so great ? 
No character's proof against enmity foul , 
And thy fate, &;c. 

Thy pardon, 'tis rumor'd, came over the main, 
Nor late, but concealed by a villain in grain ; 
'Twas fear forced the jury to a sentence so foul ; 
And thy fate, &:c. 

Triumphant stood Colcott, he wished for no more, 
When the pride of the Christians lay weltering in gore, 
To malice a victim, though steady and bold ; 
Arid thy fate, &c. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 187 

With adulter}'' stained, and polluted with gore, 
He Ronalds way eyed, as LoghuecoUy before, 
*Twas the land sought the culprit, as Ahab before ; 
And thy fate, &c. 

Proceed to the once famed abode of the Nuns, 
Call the Colcotts aloud, till you torture your lungs, 
Their short triumph's ended, extinct is the whole ; 
And thy fate, &;c. 

For years could Robert lay crippled in bed. 
Nor knew the world peace while he held up his head. 
The neighborhood's scourge in iniquity bold ; 
And thy fate, &;c. 

Not one's heard to grieve, seek the country all through, 
Nor lament for the name that Bemacan once knew ; 
The poor rather load it with curses untold t 
And thy fate, &:c. 

Ballaclogh and the Criggans mark strongly their sin, 
Not a soul of the name's there to welcome you in ; 
In the power of the strangers is centered the whole ; 
And thy fate, &c. 

The opulent Scarlett, on which the sea flows, 
Is piecemeal disposed of, to whom the Lord knows ; 
It is here without bread, or defence from the cold ; 
And thy fate, &c. 



188 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

They assert it in vain, that the law sought thy blood, 
For all aiding the massacre never did good ; 
Like the rooted-up golding deprived of its gold, 
They languished, were blasted, grew withered and old* 

When the shoots of a tree so corrupted remain, 
Like the briar or thistle, they goad us with pain ; 
Deep, dark, undermining, they mimic the mole ; 
And thy fate, &c. 

Round the infamous wretches who spilt Caesar^s blood, 
Dead spectres and conscience in sad array stood. 
Not a man of the gang reached life's utmost goal ; 
And thy fate, &c. 

Perdition too seized them who caused thee to bleed, 
To decay fell their houses, their lands and their seed 
Disappear 'd like the vapor when morn's ting'd with gold, 
t And thy fate, &c. 

From grief all corroding, to hope I'll repair. 
That a branch of the Christians will soon grace the chair, 
With royal instructions his foes to console ; 
And thy fate, &c. 

With a book for my pillow, I dreamt as I lay. 
That a branch of the Christians would hold Eonaldsway; 
His conquests his topic with friends o'er a bowl ; 
And thy fate, &c. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 189 

And now for a wish, in concluding my song,.... 

May th' Almighty withhold me from doing what's wrong! 

Protect every mortal from enmity foul, 

For thy fate, William Dhone sickens my soul. 



AIR.... COUNTY GUY. 

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea, 
The orange-flower perfumes the bower, 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark his lay who thrilled all day, 

Sits hushed his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, 

But where is County Guy ? 

The village maid steals through the shade. 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To beauty shy, by lattice high. 

Sings high-born cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above, 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
And high and low the influence know — 

But where is County Guy ? 



HERE'S neither want of appetite nor mouths, 
Pray Heaven we be not scant of meat or mirth. 



190 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



BOHEMIAN GYPSY. 

SAE rantingly, sae wantonly, 

Sae dantonly gaed he, 
He played a spring and danced a round 

Beneath the gallows-tree ! 

■At, ^L, .^ .M, .. 

TV' W W W * 

HE was a son of Egypt, as he told me, 
And one descended from those dread magicians, 
Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in Goshen, 
With Israel and her prophet.. ..matching rod 
With his the sons of Levi's.. ..and encountering 
Jehovah's miracles with incantations. 
Till upon Egypt came the avenging angel. 
And those proud sages wept for their first-born, 
As wept the unlettered peasant. 

^ ^ >)^ ^ ^ ^ 

I am as free as Nature first made man. 
Ere the base laws of servitude began. 
When wild in woods the noble savage ran. 



LOVE LETTER. 
WELCOME, she said, my swete Squyre, 
My heartis roote, my soule's desire ; 
I will give thee kisses three, 
And als five hundrid poundis in fee. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 191 



FREEDOM AND SLAVERY. 

AH, freedom is a noble thing.... 
Freedom makes man to have liking.... 
Freedom the zest to pleasure gives.... 
He lives at ease who freely lives. 
Grief, sickness, poortith, want, are all 
Summed up within the name of thrall. 



FRANCE. 

I SEE thee yet, fair France.... thou favored land 
Of art and nature.... thou art still before me ; 
Thy sons, to whom their labor is a sport, 
So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; 
Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes 
And glossy raven locks. But, favored France, 
Thou hast had many a tale of wo to tell, 
In ancient times as now. 



GEOFFREY HUDSON. 



HERE stand I, tight and trim, 
Quick of eye, though little of limb ; 
He who dei^eth the word I have spoken, 
Betwixt him and me shall lances be broken. 



192 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

PRISONER OF WAR. 
RESCUE or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive ; 
Deal with me what your nobleness suggests.... 
Thinking the chance of war may one day place you 
Where I must now be reckoned.. ..i' the roll 
Of melancholy prisoners. 

THE COURT. 

HIGH feasting was there there — the gilded roofs 
Eung to the wassail health — the dancer's step 
Sprung to the chord responsive — the gay gamester 
To fate's disposal flung his heap of gold, 
And laughed alike when it increased or lessened. 
Such virtue hath court-air to teach us patience 
Which schoolmen preach in vain. 



NECESSITY. 



NECESSITY— thou best of peace-makers, 
As woll as surest prompter of invention — 
Help us to composition ! 



NOW, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails 
Give their broad bosom to the buxoii% wind, 
Like lass that wooes a lover. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 193 



SLAVE TO THE DEVIL. 

THY time is not yet out.. ..the devil thou servest 
Hath not as yet deserted thee. . He aids i 
The friends who drudge for him, as the blind man 
Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder 
O'er rough and smooth, until he reached the brink 
Of the fell precipice.. ..then hurled him downward. 



GULLIBILITY. 

. . . This is some creature of the elements, 
Most like your sea gull. He can wheel and whistle 
His screaming song, e'en when the storm is loudest — 
Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam 
Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm. 
And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a gull, 
An .arrant gull, with all this. 



THE TROTH-PLIGHT. 

HOLD fast thy truth, young soldier. Gentle maiden, 

Keep you your promise plight. Leave age its subtleties, 

And grey-haired policy its maze of falsehood ; 

But be you candid as the morning sky, 

Ere the high sun sucks vapors up to stain it. 
R 



194 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



HYPOCRISY. 
I FEAR the devil worst when gown and cassock, 
Or, in the lack of them, old Calvin's cloak, 
Conceals his cloven hoof. 

THE SAGE. 
TALK not of Kings — I scorn the poor comparison ; 
I am a Sage, and can command the elements — 
At least men think I can ; and on that thought 
I found unbounded empire. 



SORROWFUL MEETING. 
THIS a love meeting ? See the maiden mourns, 
And the sad suitor bends his look on earth. 
There's more hath passed between them than belongs 
To Love's sweet sorrows. 



TABLE TALK. 
AND, sir, if these accounts be true. 
The Dutch have mighty things in view ; 

The Austrians I admire French beans. 

Dear ma'am, above all other greens. 

.M, ^ ^ ^ ^L, 

T? "TV" *«* TV* W 

And all as lively and as brisk 

As Ma'am, do you choose a game at whisk ? 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 195 



FAMILY LOVE. 



NEAREST of blood should still be next in love ; 
And when I see these happy children playing, 
While William gathers flowers for Ellen's ringlets, 
And Ellen dresses flies for William's angle, 
I scarce can think, that in advancing life, 
Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion, 
Will e'er divide that unity so sacred, 
Which Nature bound at birth. 



THE PROPOSAL. 

OH ! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant. 

The bride of Heaven. Come.. ..we may shake your 

purpose ; 
For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor 
Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences 
That ladies love best. He is young and noble, 
Handsome and valiant, gay, and rich, and liberal. 



GOVERNMENT. 



THERE must be government in all society.... 
Bees have their queen, and stag-herds have their leader. 
Rome had her consuls, Athens had her archons, 
And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. 



196 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



CARE. TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. 

Sedct post equitem atra ciira 

Still though the headlong cavalier 
O'er rough and smooth, in wild career, 

Seems racing with the wind ; 
His sad companion.... ghastly pale, 
And darksome as a widow's veil. 

Care.. ..keeps her seat behind. 

ASKING COUNSEL. 

COME, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; 
Thou art of those, who better help their friends 
With sage advice, than usurers with gold. 
Or brawlers with their swords. ...I'll trust to thee, 
For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. 



THE CONFESSIONAL. 

A LOVELY lass to a friar came, 
To confession a-morning early ; — 

*' In what, my dear, are you to blame ? 
Come tell me most sincerely." 

*' Alas, my fault I dare not name — 
But my lad he loved me dearly." 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 197 



OMINOUS. 

WHEN Princes meet, Astrologers may mark it 
An ominous conjunction^ full of boding, 
Like that of Mars with Saturn. 



DEATH-BED OF THE WICKED. 

IT comes. ...it wrings me in my parting hour, 
The long-hid crime.... the well-disguised guilt. 
Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre ! 



THE VAGRANTS' SONG. 

JACK looked at the sun, and cried, Fire, fire, fire ! 
Jem stabled his keffel in Birkendale mire ; 
Tom startled a calf, and halloo'd for a stag ; 
Will mounted a gate-post instead of his nag ; 
For all our men were very very merry. 
And all our men were drinking ; 
There were two men of mine, 
Three men of thine, 
And three that belonged to old Sir Thom o' Lyne ; 
As they went to the ferry, they were very very merry, 
For all our men were drinkin<T. 
R2 



m waverley poetry. 



AHRIMAN, OR, THE EVIL PRINCIPLE. 

DARK Ahriman, whom Irak still 
Holds origin of wo and ill ! 

When, bending at thy shrine, 
We view the world with troubled eye, 
Where see we, 'neath the extended sky, 

An empire matching thine ! 

If the Benigner Power can yield 
A fountain in the desert field. 

Where weary pilgrims drink ; 
Thine are the waves that lash the rock, 
Thine the tornado's deadly shock, 

Where countless navies sink ! 

Or if He bid the soil dispense 
Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, 

How few can they deliver 
Prom lingering pains, or pang intense. 
Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, 

The arrows of thy quiver ! 

Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway. 
And frequent, while in words we pray 
Before another throne, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 199 

Whatever of spacious form be 'there, 
The secret meaning of the prayer 
Is, Ahriman, thine own. 

Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, 
Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm, 

As Eastern Magi say ; 
With sentient soul of hate and wrath. 
And wings to sweep thy deadly path. 

And fangs to tear thy prey ? 

Or art thou mixed in Nature's source. 
An ever-operating force 

Converting good to ill ; 
An evil principle innate, 
Contending with our better fate, 

And O, victorious still ! 

Howe'er it be, dispute is vain, 

On all without thou hold'st thy reign. 

Nor less on all within ; 
Each mortal passion's fierce career, 
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear, 

Thou goadest into sin. 

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears, 
To brighten up our vale of tears. 
Thou art not distant far ; 



200 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

'Mid such l^rief solace of our lives. 
Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives 
To tools of death and war. 

Thus, from the moment of our birth, 
Long as we linger on the earth, 

Thou ruPst the fate of men ; 
Thine are the pangs of life's last hour, 
And — who dare answer ? — is thy power, 

Dark Spirit ! ended Then ? 



NEVER DESPAIR. 

AS lords their laborers' hire delay. 
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, 

Which, if far short of present pay. 
Still owns a debt, and names a sum. 

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, 
Although a distant date be given ; 

Despair is treason towards man. 
And blasphemy to Heaven. 



SOMETIMES, methinks, I hear the groans of ghosts, 
Then hollow sounds and lamentable screams ; 
Then, like a dying echo from afar. 
My mother's voice, that cries, " Wed not, Almeyda, 
Forewarned, Almeyda, marriage is thy crime." 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 201 



ADVICE TO YOUNG LADIES. 

NOW all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 

And ladies of England that happy would prove, 
Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, 

Nor marry for nothing but only love. 



AIR. . . .SOLDIER, WAKE. 

I. 
SOLDIER, vv^ake — the day is peeping, 
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping, 
Never, when the sunbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the hill ; 
'Tis when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and jack, 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

IL 

Up and arm — the morning beam 
Hath called the rustic to his team, 
Hath called the falc'ner to the lake. 
Hath called the huntsman to the brake ; 
The early student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 



202 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. 
Shield, that would be foeman's terror, 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror. 

III. 
Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; 
More paltry still the sportsman's gain ; 
Vainest of all, the student's theme 
Ends in some metaphysic dream ; 
Yet each is up, and each has toiled 
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled ; 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fame. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! 
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror. 



THE FAIR JAILER. 

Julia, . . . Gentle sir. 
You are our captive — but we'll use you so, 
That you shall think your prison -joys may match 
Whate'er your liberty hath known of pleasure. 

Roderic. No, fairest, we have trifled here too long ; 
And, lingering to see your roses blossom, 
I've let my laurels wither. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 203 



THE King called down his merry men all, 
By one, and by two, and three ; 

Earl Marshal was wont to be the foremost man, 
But the hindmost man was he. 



SOME better bard shall sing in feudal state 
How Bracquemont's castle oped its Gothic gate. 
When on the wandering Scot its lovely heir 
Bestowed her beauty and an earldom fair. 



'TIS the black ban-dog of our jail — Pray look on him, 
But at a wary distance — rouse him not — 
He bays not till he worries. 



IT 's hame, and it's hame, and its hame we fain would 

be, 
Tho' the cloud is in the lift, and the wind is on the lea ; 
For the sun through the mirk blinks blithe on mine ee, 
Says.. ..I'll shine on ye yet in our ain countrie. 



What sheeted ghost is wandering through the storm ? 

For never did a maid of middle earth 

Choose such a time or spot to vent her sorrows. 



204 WAVERLE Y POETRY. 



WOMAN'S TRUTH. 

I. 
WOMAN'S faith and woman's trust- 
Write the characters in dust ; 
Stamp them on the running stream, 
Print them on the moon's pale beam, 
And each evanescent letter 
Shall be clearer, firmer, better, 
And more permanent, I ween, 
Than the thing those letters mean. 

II. 

I have strained the spider's thread 
'Gainst the promise of a maid ; 
I have weighed a grain of sand 
'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; 

I told my true love of the token, 

How her faith proved light, and her word was broken ; 
Again her word and troth she plight, 
And I believed them again ere night. 



ACTIVITY. 

TOO much rest is rust. 
There's ever cheer in changing ; 

We tyne by too much trust, 
So we'll be up and ranging. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 205 



THE MINSTREL. 



HE was a minstrel — in his mood 
Was wisdom mixed with folly ; 
A tame companion to the good, 
But wild and fierce among the rude, 
And jovial v/ith the jolly. 



A WELSH DESCANT. 

I ASKED of my harp, * Who hath injured thy chords ?' 
And she replied, * The crooked finger which I mocked 

in my tune.' 
A blade of silver may be bended — a blade of steel abi- 

deth— 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endure th. 

The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips, 

But they are long corroded by the juice of wormwood ; 

The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf ran- 

geth the mountain ; 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 

I asked the red-hot iron, when it glimmered on the 

anvil, 
* Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire-brand ? ' 
S 



206 WAVERLEY POETKY. 

* 1 was born in the dark mine, and the brand in the 

pleasant greenwood ;' 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 

I asked the green oak of the assembly, wherefore its 
boughs were dried and seared like th%|horns of 
the stag ? 

And it showed me that a small worm had gnawed its 
roots. 

The boy, who remembered the scourge, undid the wick- 
et of the castle at midnight. 

Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 

Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires pierce 
the clouds ; 

Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intercept 
the gale. 

He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a contempti- 
ble enemy. 

Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. 



LOST HONOR. 

. . . ALL my long arrear of honor lost, 
Heaped up in youth, and hoarded up for age. 
Hath honor's fountain then sucked up the stream ? 
He hath, and hooting boys may barefoot pass, 
And gather pebbles from the naked ford. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 207 



WELCH WAR. 

IN Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 
With rapid clangor hurried far ; 

Each hill and dale the note rebounds, 
But when return the sons of war ! 

Thou, born of stern Necessity, 

Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee, 
And owns thy melancholy sway. 



ENVY. 

ONE thing is certain in our Northern land, 
Allow that birth, or valor, wealth, or wit. 
Give each precedence to their possessor, 
Envy, that follows on such eminence, 
As comes the lyme-hound on the roebuck's trace, 
Shall pull them down each one. 



ASTROLOGY. 

THIS work desires a planetary intelligence, 
Of Jupiter and Sol ; and those great spirits 
Are proud, fantastical. It asks great charges 
To entice them from the guiding of their spheres, 
To wait on mortals. 



208 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE CRUSADER. 

WHAT brave chief shall head the forces, 
Where the red-cross legions gather ? 

Best of horsemen, best of horses, 
Highest head and fairest feather. 

Ask not Austria why, midst princes, 
Still her banner rises highest ; 

Ask as well the strong-winged eagle, 
Why to heaven he soars the nighest. 



GAIETY AND INNOCENCE. 

YOU talk of Gaiety and Innocence ! 
The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, 
They parted, ne'er to meet again ; and Malice 
Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety, 
From the first moment when the smiling infant 
Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with. 
To the last chuckle of the dying miser, 
Who on his death-bed laughs his last to hear 
His wealthy neighbor has become a bankrupt. 



THE EFFECTUAL PHYSICIAN. 

THIS is the Prince of Leeches ; fever, plague. 
Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him, 
And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 209 



SULLIED HONOR, 

THE tears I shed must ever fall ! 

I weep not for an absent swain, 
For time may happier hours recall, 

And parted lovers meet again. 

I weep not for the silent dead, 

Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er, 

And those that loved, their steps must tread, 
When death shall join to part no more. 

But worse than absence, worse than death, 
She wept her lover's sullied fame, 

And fired with all the pride of birth, 
She wept a soldier's injured name. 



RETRACTION. 

MUST We then sheathe our still victorious sword ; 
Turn back our forward step, which ever trod 
O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory ; 
Unclasp the mail, which, with a solemn vow. 
In God's own house, we hung upon our shoulders ? 
That vow, as unaccomplished as the promise 
Which village nurses make to still their children, 
And after think no more of ? 

S2 



210 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



GREAT EFFECTS FROM SMALL CAUSES. 

A grain of dust 

Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject 
Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for ; 
A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, 
Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy. 
Even this small cause of anger and disgust 
Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes, ^ 
And wreck their noblest purposes. 



BEAUTY. 

WHEN Beauty leads the lion in her toils, 
Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane, 
Far less expand the terror of his fangs. 
So great Alcides made his club a distaff, 
And spun to please fair Omphale. 



VENGEANCE. 

WERE every hair upon his head a life. 

And every life were to be supplicated 

By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled, 

Life after life should out like waning stars 

Before the day-break — or as festive lamps. 

Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel, 

Each after each are quenched when guests depart ! 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 211 



AN EVERY-DAY WOMAN. 

'TIS not her sense — for sure, in that 
There's nothing more than common ; 

And all her wit is only chat, 
Like any other woman. 

ENCHANTMENT. 

MID these wild scenes Enchantment waves her hand, 
To change the face of the mysterious land ; 
Till the bewildering scenes around us seem 
The vain productions of a feverish dream. 



THERE never was a time on the March parts yet, 

When Scottish with English met, 
But it was marvel if the red blood ran not 

As the rain does in the street. 



O, sadly shines the morning sun 

On leaguered castle wall, 
When bastion, tower, and battlement, 

Seem nodding to their fall. 

WE meet as shadows in the land of dreams, 
Which speak not but in signs. 



212 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE BLOODY VEST. 

'TWAS near the fair city of Benevent, 
When the sun was setting on bough and bent, 
And knights were preparing in bower and tent, 
On the eve of the Baptist's tournament ; 
When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, 
Well seeming a page by a princess sent, 
Wandered the camp, and, still as he w^ent, 
Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. 

Far hath he fared, and farther must fare. 
Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare, — 
Little save iron and steel was there ; 
And, as lacking the coin to pay armorer's care, 
With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare, 
The good knight with hammer and file did repair 
The mail that tomorrow must see him wear. 
For the honor of Saint John and his lady fair. 

*' Thus speaks my lady," the page said he, 

And the knight bent lowly both head and knee, 

*' She is Benevent's princess so high in degree. 

And thou art as lowly as knight may well be — 

He that would climb so lofty a tree, 

Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee. 

Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see 

His ambition is backed by his high chivalrie. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 213 

" Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said, 
And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, 
* Fling aside the good armor in which thou art clad. 
And don thou this weed of her night gear instead, 
For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread ; 
And charge, thus attired, in the tournament dread, 
And fight, as thy wont is, where most blood is shed. 
And bring honor away, or remain with the dead." 

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast. 
The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath 

kissed ; 
" Now blessed be the moment, the messenger be blest ! 
Much honored do I hold me in my lady's high behest ; 
And say unto my lady, in this dear night weed drest. 
To the best armed champion I will not vail my crest, 
But if I live and bear me well, 'tis her turn to take the 

test." 
Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of 

the Bloody Vest. 

FYTTE SECOND. 

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats — 
There was winning of honor, and losing of seats — 
There was hewing with falchions, and splintering o^ 

staves. 
The victors won glory, the vanquished won graves. 



214 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

many a knight there fought bravely and well, 
Yet one was accounted his peers to excel, 
And 'twas he whose sole armor on body and breast, 
Seemed the weed of a damsel when bound for her rest. 



There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody 

and sore, 
But others respected his plight, and forebore. 
'* It is some oath of honor," they said, " and I trow, 
'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow." 
Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tournament 

cease. 
He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace ; 
And the judges declare, and competitors yield. 
That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher, 
When before the fair princess low louted a squire, 
And delivered a garment unseemly to view, 
With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hacked and pierced 

through ; 
All rent and all tattered, all clotted with blood, 
With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud ; 
Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween, 
Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. / , 215 

** This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent, 
Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; 
He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, 
He that leaps the wide gulf shall prevail in his suit ; 
Through life's utmost" peril the prize I have won, 
And now must the faith of my mistress be shown. 
For she who prompts knights on such danger to run, 
Must avouch his true service in front of the sun. 

" I restore, says my master, the garment I've worn, 
And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn ; 
For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more, 
Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimsoned with 

gore." 
Then deep blushed the Princess — yet kissed she and 

prest 
The blood-spotted robe to her lips and her breast, 
*' Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show 
If I value the blood on this garment or no." 

And when it was time for the nobles to pass. 
In solemn procession to minster and mass, 
The first walked the Princess in purple and pall, 
But the blood-besmeared night-robe she wore over all ; 
And eke in the hall, where they all sat at dine. 
When she knelt to her father, and proffered the wine, 
Over all her rich robes, and state jewels, she wore 
That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. 



216 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Then lords whispered ladies, as well you may think. 

And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink ; 

And the Prince, who in anger and shame had looked 

down, 
Turned at length to his daughter, and spoke with a 

frown, 
" Now since thou hast published thy folly and guilt, 
E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt ; 
Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent, 
When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent." 

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood. 
Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood ; 
" The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, 
I poured forth as freely as flask gives its wine ; 
And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame. 
Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame ; 
And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent, 
When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent." 



THE GOOD DAUGHTER. 

COME forth, old man— Thy daughter's side 

Is now the fitting place for thee. 
When Time hath quelled the oak's bold pride. 
The youthful tendril yet may hide 
The ruins of the parent tree. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 217 



CROMWELL'S TIMES. 

NOW ye wild blades, that make loose inns your stage, 
To vapor forth the acts of this sad age 
Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the West, 
And northern clashes, where you still fought best ; 
Your strange escapes, your dangers void of fear, 
When bullets flew between the head and ear, 
Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit.... 
Of you I speak. 



DUTY. 

Yon path of greensward 

Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; 
There is no flint to gall thy tender foot. 
There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower. 
But Duty guides not that way. See her stand, 
With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs. 
Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footsteps, 
Oft where she leads thy head must bear the storm. 
And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger ; 
But she will guide thee up to noble heights, 
Which he who gains seems native of the sky, 
While earthly things lie stretched beneath his feet, 

Diminished, shrunk, and valueless. 
T 



218 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



ROUNDHEAD LANGUAGE. 
MY tongue pads slowly under this new language, 
And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phrases. 
They may be great in worth and weight, but hang 
Upon the native glibness of my speech 
Like Saul's plate-armor on the shepherd boy, 
Encumbering and not arming him. 



TWO IN ONE. 

Here have .we one head 

Upon two bodies.... Your two-headed bullock 

Is but an ass to such a prodigy. 

These two have but one meaning, thought, and counsel; 

And, when the single noddle has spoke out, 

The four legs scrape assent to it. 



PUNISHMENT IS SURE. 

DEEDS are done on earth, 

Which have their punishment ere the earth closes 

Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working 

Of the remorse-stirred fancy, or the vision, 

Distinct and real, of unearthly being, 

All ages witness, that beside the couch 

Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost 

Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. 



Vv^AVEilLEY POETRY. 219 



GLEE FOR KING CHARLElS. 

BRING the bowl which you boast, 

Fill it up to the brim ; 
'Tis to him we love most, 

And to all who love him. 
Brave gallants, stand up, 

And avaunt, ye base carles ! 
Were there death in the cup, 

Here's a Health to King Charles ! 

Though he wanders through dangers, 

Unaided, unknown, 
Dependent on strangers, 

Estranged from his own ; 
Though 'tis under our breath 

Am.idst forfeits and perils, 
Here's to honor and faith. 

And a Health to King Charles ! 

Let such honors abound 

A.S the time can afford, 
The knee on the ground, 

And the hand on the sword ; 
But the time shall come round, 

When, mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls, 
The loud trumpet shall sound 

Here's a health to King Charles ! 



220 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE BEAUTIFUL DECEIVER. 

THE deadliest snakes are those which, twined ^mongst 

fxowers, 
Blend their bright coloring with the varied blossoms, 
Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dew-drop ; 
In all so like what nature has most harmless, 
That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger, 
Is poisoned unawares. 



CONSCIENCE, FAITH, HOPE, CHASTITY. 

THESE thoughts may startle, but will not astound 
The virtuous mind, that ever w^alks attended 
By a strong-siding champion, Conscience. 

.A/. ^£, ,2/, .42. .M. 

'W' •7? -75" "T? W 

welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, 
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings, 
And thou unblemished form of Chastity ! 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

That he, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill 
Are but as slavish ofScers of vengeance, 
Would send a glistering guardian, if need were, 
To keep my life and honor unassailed. — 
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 221 



AN HOUR WITH THEE. 

AN hour with thee ! — When earliest day 
Dapples with gold the eastern grey, 
Oh, what can frame my mind to bear 
The toil and turmoil, cark and care, 
New griefs which coming hours unfold, 
And sad remembrance of the old ? 

One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee !— When burning June 
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; 
What shall repay the faithful swain. 
His labor on the sultry plain ; 
And more than cave or sheltering bough. 
Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ?.... 
One hour with thee. 

One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, 
Oh, what can teach me to forget 
The thankless labors of the day ; 
The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 
The increasing wants, the lessening gains, 
The master's pride, who scorns my pains ? 
One hour with thee. 

T2 



222 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

THE GHOST. 

BY pathle.ss march, by greenwood tree, 
It is thy weird to follow me— 
To follow me through the ghastly moonlight- 
To follow me through the shadows of night — 
To follow me, comrade, still art thou bound ; 
1 conjure thee by the unstanched wound — 
I conjure thee by the last words I spoke, 
When the body slept, and the spirit awoke, 
In the very last pangs of the deadly stroke. 



THE NOVELIST. 

WHAT ails me, I may not, as well as they. 

Rake up some thread-bare tales, that mouldering lay 

In chimney corners, w^ont by Christmas fires 

To read and rock to sleep our ancient sires ? 

No man his threshold better knows, than I 

Brute's first arrival and first victory. 

Saint George's sorrel and his cross of blood, 

Arthur's round board and Caledonian wood. 



THE TECBIR. 
WE heard the Tecbir,— so these Arabs call 
Their shout of onset, when, with loud acclaim, 
They challenge heaven to give them victory. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 223 



THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE. 

AH, poor Louise ! the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 
And still her voice and viol say, 
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, 
Think on Louise ! 

Ah, poor Louise, the sun was high. 
It smirched her cheek, it dimmed her eye, 
The woodland walk was cool and nigh. 
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie 
To cheer Louise ! 

Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; 
The wolves molest not paths so fair- 
But better far had such been there 
For poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huntsman fair and bold ; 
His baldrick was of silk and gold, 
And many a witching tale he told 
To poor Louise* 

Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 



224 WAVEitLEY POETRY. 

For peace of mind, that gift divine, 
And spotless ininocence were thine, 
Ah, poor Louise ! 

Ah, poor Louise ! Thy treasure's reft ! 
I know not if by force or theft. 
Or part by violence, part by gift • 
But misery is all that's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succor have ? 
She will not long your bounty crave, 
Or tire the gay with warning stave — 
For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave 
For poor Louise. 

OH, fear not, fear not, good Lord John^ 

That I would you betray. 
Or sue requital for a debt. 

Which Nature cannot pay. 

Bear witness, all ye sacred powers — * 
Ye lights that 'gin to shine — 

This night shall prove the sacred tie 
That binds your faith and mine. 



WE do that in our zeal, 

Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 225 



CAVALIER SCRAPS. 
Then let the health go round, a-round,a-round, a-round, 
Then let the health go round ; 
For though your stocking be of silk, 
Your knee shall kiss the ground, a-ground, a-ground, 
a-ground, 
Your knee shall kiss the ground. 



SON of a witch, 

May'st thou die in a ditch, 

With the butchers who back thy quarrels ; 
And rot above ground. 
While the world shall resound 

A welcome to royal King Charles. 



HE either fears his fate too much, 

Or his deserts are small, 
Who dares not put it to the touch, 

To win or lose it all. 



MR. SMITH. 



Whence cometh Smith, be he knight, lord, or squire ? 
But from the smith that forged in the fire. 



226 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



INDISPUTABLE ARGUMENT. 
MY sword, my spear, my shaggy shield, 

They make me lord of all below ; 
For he who dreads the lance to wield, 

Before my shaggy shield must bow. 
His lands, his vineyards must resign, 
And all that cowards have is mine. 



LUCKY TRUMBULL. 
THEN up and spak the auld gudewife, 

And vow ! but she was grim ; 
" Had e'er your father done the like, 

It had been ill for him." 



0, I'm come to the Low Country, 

Och, och, ohonochie, 
Without a penny in my pouch 

To buy a meal for me. 
I was the proudest of my clan, 

Long, long, may I repine ; 
And Donald was the bravest man, 

And Donald he was mine. 



HAD you but seen these roads before they were made, 
You would hold up your hands, and bless General Wade. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 227 



THE MYSTERIOUS MURDER. 

LO ! where he lies embalmed in gore, 
His wound to Heaven cries ; 

The floodgates of his blood implore 
For vengeance from the skies. 



CHANT FOR THE DEAD. 

1 
VIEWLESS Essence, thin and bare, 
Well nigh melted into air ; 
Still with fondness hovering near 
The earthly form thou once didst wear ; 

2 

Pause upon thy pinion's flight, 
Be thy course to left or right ; 
Be thou doomed to soar or sink, 
Pause upon the awful brink. 

3 

To avenge the deed, expelling 
Thee untimely from my dwelling, 
Mystic force thou shalt retain 
O'er the blood and o'er the brain. 



228 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

4 
When the form thou shalt espy 
That darkened on thy closing eye ; 
When the footstep thou shalt hear, 
That thrilled upon thy dying ear ; 

5 

Then strange sympathies shall wake, 
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake, 
The wounds renew their clottered flood, 
And every drop cry, blood for blood ! 



MY DOG AXD I. 
MY dog and I we have a trick 
To visit maids when they are sick ; 
When they're sick and like to die, 
O thither do come my dog and I. 

And when I die, as needs must hap, 
Then bury me under the good ale tap, 
With folded arms there let me lie. 
Cheek by jowl, my dog and I. 



LIZZY LYNDESAY. 

WILL you go to the Hielands, Lizzy Lyndesay, 
Will you go to the Hielands wi' me ? 

Will you go to the Hielands, Lizzy Lyndesny, 
My bride and my darling to be ? 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 229 



LUCINDA. 
FAIR is the damsel, passing fair — 

Sunny at distance gleams her smile ; 
Approach — the cloud of woful care 

Hangs trembling in her eye the while. 



THE GLEE-MAIDEN'S DIRGE. 

1 
YES, thou may'st sigh, 
And look once more at all around, 
At stream, and bank, and sky, and ground, 
Thy life its final course has found, 
And thou must die. 

2 
Yes, lay thee down. 
And while thy struggling pulses flutter, 
Bid the grey monk his soul-mass mutter, 
And the deep bell its death-tone utter — - 
Thy life is gone. 

3 

Be not afraid, 

'Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, 
A fever fit, and then a chill ; 
And then an end of human ill, 
For thou art dead. 



230 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



BOLD AND TRUE. 

OH, Bold and True, 

In bonnet blue, 

That fear or falsehood never knew, 
Whose heart was loyal to his word. 
Whose hand was faithful to his sword — 

Seek Europe wide from sea to sea, 

But bonny Blue-Cap still for me ! 

I've seen Almain's proud champions prance — 
Have seen the gallant knights of France, 
Unrivalled with the sword and lance — 
Have seen the sons of England true 
Wield the brown bill and bend the yew. 
Search France the fair, and England free, 
But bonny Blue-Cap still for me ! 



THE ADEPT. 

THESE be the adept's doctrines — every element 
Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. 
The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float ; 
Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; 
The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean billow, 
And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home 
To its peculiar sprite, the Salamander. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 231 



LOVE OF GOLD, 



CURSED be the gold and silver, which persuade 
Weak man to follow far fatiguing trade. 
The lily, peace, outshines the silver store, 
And life is dearer than the golden ore. 
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, 
To every distant mart and wealthy town. 



RURAL LIFE. 

I was one, 

Who loved the greenwood bank and lowing herd, 
The russet prize, the lowly peasant's life. 
Seasoned with sweet content, more than the halls 
Where revellers feast to fever-height. Believe me, 
There ne'er was poison mixed in maple bowl. 



THE REQUITAL. 

WERE ever two such loving friends !- 

How could they disagree ? 
thus it was, he loved him dear. 

And thought how to requite him. 
And having no friend left but he. 

He did resolve to fight him. 



232 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

FANCY. 

THERE are times 

When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite 
Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth 
Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems, 
When the broad, palpable, and marked partition, 
'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved, 
As if the mental eye gained power to gaze 
Beyond the limits of the existing world. 
Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love 
Than all the gross realities of life» 



CITY OF BALE. 

THEY saw that city, welcoming the Rhine, 
As from his mountain heritage he bursts, 
As purposed proud Orgetorix of yore, 
Leaving the desert region of the hills. 
To lord it o'er the fertile plains of Gaul. 



TOM AND DICK. 
DICK was come to high renown 

Since he commenced physician ; 
Tom was held by all the town 

The better politician. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 233 



HAPPY OLD AGE. 

A MIRTHFUL man he was — the snows of age 
Fell, but they did not chill him. Gaiety, 
Even in life's closing, touched his teeming brain 
With such wild visions as the setting sun 
Raises in front of some hoar glacier, 
Painting the bleak Ice with a thousand hues. 



VISIONS. 

WE know not when we sleep nor when we wake. 

Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye, 

Which to the slumberer seem realities ; 

And while they waked, some men have seen such sights 

As set at nought the evidence of sense. 

And left them well persuaded they were dreaming. 



THE MONK. 

Want you a man 

Experienced in tTie world and its affairs ? 
Here he is for your purpose. He's a Monk. 
He hath forsworn the world and all its work — 
The rather that he knows it passing well, 
Special the worst of it, for he's a Monk. 

U2 



234 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



CHANT OF THE GERMAN INaUISITORS. 

MEASURERS of good and evil, 
Bring the square, the line, the level,— 
Rear the altar, dig the trench. 
Blood both stone and ditch shall drench 
Cubits six, from end to end, 
Must the fatal bench extend, — 
Cubits six, from side to side. 
Judge and culprit must divide* 
On the east the Court assembles, 
On the west the Accused trembles — 
Answer, brethren, all and one. 
Is the ritual rightly done ? 

On life and soul, on blood and bone, 
One for all, and all for one. 
We warrant this is rightly done. 

# # # # « 

How wears the night ? — Doth morning shine 
In early radiance on the Rhine ? 
What music floats upon his tide ? 
Do birds the tardy morning chide ? 
Brethren, look out from hill and height, 
And answer true, how wears the night ? 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 235 

The night is old ; on Rhine's broad breast 
Glance drowsy stars, which long to rest. 

No beams are twinkling in the east. 
There is a voice upon the flood, 
The stern still call of blood for blood ; 

'Tis time we listen the behest. 

^ ■^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

Up, then, up ! When day's at rest, 
'Tis time that such as we are watchers ; 

Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! 

Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes, 
He and night are matchers. 



EDINBURGH. 



THE ashes here of murdered kings 
Beneath my footsteps sleep ; 

And yonder lies the scene of death, 
Where Mary learnt to weep. 



MAN'S WRATH. 
WHEN we two meet, we meet like rushing torrents ; 
Like warring' winds, like flames from various points, 
That mate each other's fury — there is nought 
Of elemental strife, were fiends to guide it. 
Can match the wrath of man. 



236 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



CRINGING CEREMONY. 
TELL me not of it — I could ne'er abide 
The mummery of all that forced civility. 
" Pray seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams 
The speech is spoken, and, with bended knee, 
Heard by the smiling courtier. " Before you, sir ? 
It must be on the earth then." Hang it all ! 
The pride which cloaks itself In such poor fashion 
Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. 



KING RENE. 



AY, this is he who wears the wreath of bays 

Wove by Apollo and the Sisters Nine, 

Which Jove's dread lightning scathes not. He hath doft 

The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside 

The yet more galling diadem of gold ; 

While, with a leafy circlet round his brows, 

He reigns the King of Lovers and of Poets. 



« DER RHEIN, DER RHEIN." 

UPON the Ehine, upon the Rhine they cluster, 

The grapes of juice divine, 
Which make the soldier's jovial courage muster ; 

O, blessed be the Rhine ! 



WAVERLEY^ POETRY. 237 



THE TIBER AND THE TAY. 

" BEHOLD the Tiber," the vain Roman cried, 
Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie's side ; 
But where's the Scot that would the vaunt repay, 
And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay ? 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 

TOLL, toll the bell ! 

Greatness is o'er, 

The heart has broke, 

To ache no more ; 
An unsubstantial pageant all — 
Drop o'er the scene the funeral 



MY heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here ; 
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer ; 
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe ; 
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

Farewell to the Highlands !• farewell to the North ! 
The birth-place of valor, the cradle of worth ; 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever I love. 



WITHOUT the smile from partial beauty won, 
Oh, what were man ? — a world without a sun ! 



238 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE ENGINEER. 

BETWEEN the foaming jaws of the white torrent, 

The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; 

By level long he subdivides their strength, 

Stealing the waters from their rocky bed, 

First to diminish what he means to conquer ; 

Then for tho residue he forms a road. 

Easy to keep, and pamful to desert, 

And guiding to the end the planner aimed at. 



FEUDAL TIMES. 

THESE were wild times — the antipodes of ours ; 

Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves 

In the broad lustre of a foeman's shield 

Than in a mirror, and who rather sought 

To match themselves in battle, than in dalliance 

To meet a lover's onset. But though Nature 

Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. 



LOVE'S POWER. 

'TIS strange that, in the dark, sulphureous mine, 
Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores 
Of slumbering thunder, Love will interpose 
His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion 
To, burst, when the deviser's least aware, 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 239 

THE OURANG OUTANG. 

STRANGE ape of man ! who loathes thee while he 

scorns thee ; 
Half a reproach to us, and half a jest. 
What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure, 
In viewing our own form, our pride and passions, 
Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine ! 



GREEK AND FRANK. 

THE parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 
Weighing each word, and canvassing each syllable ; 
Evading, arguing, equivocating. 
And the stern Frank came with his two-hand sword, 
Watching to see which way the balance sways, 
That he may throw it in, and turn the scales. 



THE COURT. 

HERE, youth, thy foot unbrace, 

Here, youth, thy brow unbraid ; 
Each tribute that may grace 

The threshold here be paid. 
Walk with the stealthy pace 

Which Nature teaches deer, 
When, echoing in the chase, 

The hunter's horn they hear. 



240 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



A LOVER'S CHALLENGE. 
VAIN man ! thou mayst esteem thy love as fair 
As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. 
She may be all that's matchless in her person, 
And all-divine in soul to match her body ; 
But, take this from me — thou shalt never call her 
Superior to her sex, while oTie survives, 
And I am her true votary. 



A DELUGE. 

THE storm increases — 'tis no sunny shower, 
Fostered in the moist breast of March or April, 
Or such as parched Summer cools his lips with. 
Heaven's windows are flung wide ; the inmost deeps 
Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; 
On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, 
And Where's the dike shall stop it ! 



WILL you hear of a Spanish lady. 

How she wooed an Englishman ? 

Garments gay, as rich as may be, 

Decked with jewels she had on. 

Of a comely countenance and grace was she, 

And by birth and parentage of high degree. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 241 



THE MINE. 

ALL is prepared — the chambers of the mine 

Are crammed v/ith the combustible, which, harmless, 

While yet unkindled, as the sable sand. 

Needs but a spark to change its nature so, 

That he, who wakes it from its slumbrous mood. 

Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who knows 

That 'tis his towers which meet its fury. 



DECREES OF PROVIDENCE. 
HEAVEN knows its time ; the bullet has its billet. 
Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose ; 
The fated beasts of nature's lower strain 
Have each their separate task. 



TOUCHING TALE. 
A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep ; 
A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; 
A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch. 
And the flesh curdles, if you read it rightly. 



W 



Gloth must we wear, 
Eat beef and drink beer. 
Though the dead go to bier. 



242 WAVEKLEY POETRV. 



THE VISIONARY. 

HIS talk was of another world — his bodements 
Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those who heard him 
Listened as to a man in feverish dreams, 
Who speaks of other objects than the present, 
And mutters like to him who sees a vision. 



THE WOODMAN'S RHYME. 

IF thou be hurt with horn of hart, 
It brings thee to thy bier ; 

But tusk of boar shall leeches heal, 
Thereof have lesser fear. 



CRY the wild war-note, let the champions pass, 

Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; 

Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry. 

And thrice they shout on height, 

And then marked them on the Englishmen, 

As I have told you right. 

Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight, 

To name they were full fain ; 

Our Englishmen they cried on height, 

And thrice they shoui again. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 243 



SECLUDED BEAUTY. 

WITHOUT a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous, 
Within, it was a little paradise, 
Where taste had made her dwelling. Statuary, 
First-born of human art, moulded her images, 
And bade men mark and worship. 



WHERE is he ? Has the deep earth swallowed him, 

Or hath he melted like som.e airy phantom 

That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun ? 

Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, 

And passed beyond the circuit of the sight, 

With things of the night's shadows ? 



THE hour is nigh ! now hearts beat high, 
Each sword is sharpened well ; 

And who dares die, who stoops to fly, 
To-morrow's lio:ht shall tell. 



IF I hit mast, and line, and bird, 
An English archer keeps his word. 
Ah ! maiden, didst thou aim at me, 
A single glance were worth the three. 



244 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



THE ROAD OF LIFE. 
THE way is long, my children, long and rough — 
The moors are dreary, and woods are dark ; 
But he that creeps from cradle on to grave. 
Unskilled save in the velvet course of fortune, 
Hath missed the discipline of noble hearts. 



THE MARRIAGE BELLS. 
EING out the merry bells, the bride approaches ; 
The blush upon her cheek hath shamed the morning. 
For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, 
These clouds betoken nought of evil omen. 



THE heart, she said, is lightly prized, 

That is but lightly won ; 
And long shall mourn the heartless man, 

That leaves his love too soon. 



Happy's the wooing 
That's not long a-doing. 



GIVE me the joy that sickens not the heart. 
Give me the wealth that has no wings to fly. 



WAVERLEY POETRV. 245 



AUGURIES. 

WHEN the cock crows, keep well her comb, 

For the fox and the fulmart they are false both. 

When the raven and the rook have rounded together., 

And the kid in his cliff shall accord to the same. 

Then shall they be bold, and soon to battle thereafter. 

Then the birds of the raven rugs and reives, 

And the leal men of Lothian are louping on their horse; 

Then shall the poor people be spoiled full near, 

And the abbeys be burnt truly, that stand upon Tweed ; 

They shall burn and slay, and great reif make ; 

There shall no poor man say whose man he is ; 

Then shall the land be lawless, for love there is none. 

Then falset shall have foot fully five years ; 

Then truth truly shall be tint, and none shall lippen to 

other ; 
The one cousing shall not trust the other. 
Not the son the father, nor the father the son ; 
For to have his goods he would have him hanged. 



NORTHUMBRIAN DITTY. 



Willie Foster's gone to sea, 
Siller buckles at his knee, 
He'll come back and marry me, 
w2 Canny Willie Foster. 



246 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



SONG. 



OH, I lo'e wee], my Charlie's name, 
Though some there be that abhor him ; 

But oh to see the de'il gang hame 
Wi' a' the Whigs before him ! 

Over the water, and over the sea, 
And over the water to Charlie ; 

Come weal, come wo, we'll gather and go, 
And live or die with Charlie, 



CONCLUSION. 

HERE come we to our close.. ..for that which follows 
Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. 
Steep crags and headlong linns may court the pencil. 
Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange adventures ; 
But who would paint the dull and fog-wrapt moor, 
In its long track of sterile desolation. 



247 



FRAGMENTS 



LOCKHART'S LIFE OF SCOTT. 



" MY WALTER'S FIRST LINES." 

Writleii by his mother oq an envelope, inclosing these verses, 1782. 

IN awful ruins JEtna thunders nigh, 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky 
Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire, 
From their dark sides there bursts the glowing fire. 
At other times huge balls of fire are tossed, 
That lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost ; 
Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions torn, 
Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne 
With loud explosions to the starry skies, 
The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies ; 
Then back again with greater weight recoils, 
While -iEtna thundering from the bottom boils. 



248 WAVERLEY POETKY. 



ON A THUNDER-STORM. 

LOUD o'er my head though awful thunders roll, 
And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, 
Yet 'tis thy voice, my God, that bids them fly ; 
Thine arm directs those lightnings through the sky. 
Then let the good thy mighty name revere, 
And hardened sinners thy just vengeance fear* 



ON THE SETTING SUN. 

THOSE evening clouds, that setting ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

Their great Creator's praise ; 
Then let the short-lived thing called man, 
Whose life's comprised within a span, 

To him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds 

And tints so gay and bold. 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold. 



TO THE VIOLET. 



THE violet in her greenwood bower, 
Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, 



AVAVERLEY POETRY. 249 

May boast itself the fairest flower 
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 

Though fair her gems of azure hue 

Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining, 

iVe seen an eye of lovelier blue 

More sweet through watery lustre shining. 

The summer sun that dew shall dry, 
Ere yet the sun be past its morrow. 

Nor longer, in my false love's eye, 
Remained the tear of parting sorrow ! 



TO TIME. 

FRIEND of the wretch oppressed with grief, 
Whose lenient hand, though slow, supplies 

The balm that lends to care relief, 

That wipes her tears — that checks her sighs !- 

'Tis thine the wounded soul to heal. 

That hopeless bleeds for sorrow's smart, 

From stern misfortune's shaft to steal 
The barb that rankles in the heart. 

What though with thee the roses fly. 
And jocund youth's gay reign is o'er ? 

Though dimmed the lustre of the eye, 

And hope's vain dreams enchant no more ? 



250 WAVERLEY FOETEY. 

Yet ill thy train come soft-eyed Peace, 
Indifference with her heart of snow ; 

At her cold touch, lo ! sorrows cease ; 
No thorns beneath her roses grow. 

Oh haste to grant the suppliant's prayer, 
To me thy torpid calm impart ; 

Rend from my brow youth's garland fair, 
Bat take the thorn that's in my heart. 

Ah, why do fabling poets tell, 

That thy fleet wings outstrip the wind, 
Why feign thy course, of joy the knell, 

And call thy slowest pace unkind ? 

To me thy tedious feeble pace 

Comes laden with the weight of years- 
With sighs I view morn's blushing face, 

And hail mild evening with my tears. 



THE ERL-KING. 

The Erl-King is a goblin that haunts the Black Forest in Thuringia. 
To be read by a candle particularly long in the snuff. 

0, who rides by night through the woodland so wild ? 
It is the fond father embracing his child ; 
A ad close the boy nestles within his loved arm, 
To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. 



WAVEKLEY POSTHY, :;5i 

* father, see yonder ! see yonder ! ' he says ; 
My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze ? 

* Oh 'tis the Erl-King, with his crown and his shroud/ 
No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud. 

(The Erl-King speaks.) 
O come and go with me, thou loveliest child ; 
By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled ; 
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, 
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy. 

* O father, my father, and did you not hear 
The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear ?'— 

Be still, my heart's darling I my child, be at ease I 
It was but the wild blast as it sung through the trees. 

Erl-King, 
O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy ? 
My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy ; 
She shall bear thee so lightly thro' wet and thro' wild, 
And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child. 

* O father, my father, and saw you not plain 

The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past thro' the rain V 

O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon ; 

It was the grey willow that danced to the mo:>n. 

Erl-King. 
O come and go with me ; no longer delay, 
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away. 



252 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

* father ! O father ! now, now keep your hold '. 
The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold ! ' 

Sore tremhled the father ; he spurred through the wild, 
Clasping close to his hosom his shuddering child ; 
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread, 
But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead ! 



SCOTT'S DEAREST HAUNTS. 
SWEET are the paths, O passing sweet, 

By Esk's fair streams that run, 
O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep, 

Impervious to the sun ; 
From that fair dome where suit is paid 

By blast of bugle free, 
To Auchendinny's hazel shade, 

And haunted Woodhouselee. 
Who knows not Melville's beechy grove, 

And Roslin's rocky glen ? 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, 

And classic Hawthornden ? 



TO BONAPARTE. 
BONY ! I'll owe you a curse, if Hereafter 

To my vision your tyrannous spectre shall show ; 
But I doubt you'll be pinned on old Nick's reddest rafter, 

While the vulgar of Tophet howl back from below. 



WAVEELEY POETRY. 253 



ANSWER 
TO THE REQUEST, " DO NOT FORGET US." 

FORGET thee ? No, my worthy frere I 
Forget blythe mirth and gallant cheer ? 
Death sooner stretch me on my bier ! 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget the universal shout, 

When canny Sunderland spoke out — 

A truth which knaves affect to doubt — 

Forget thee ? No. 

Forget you ? No — though now-a-day 
I've heard your knowing people say, 
Disown the debt you cannot pay. 
You'll find it far the thriftiest way — 
But I ? no. 

Forget your kindness found for all room 

In what, though large, seemed still a small room, 

Forget my Surtccs in a ball room — 

Forget you ? No. 

Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, 
And beauty tripping to the fiddles, 
Forget my lovely friends the Liddells ? 
Forget you ! Np. 



254 WAVERLEY POETRY. 



"To-day I leave Mrs. Brown's lodgings." July 13, 1225. 

SO, good by, Mrs. Brown, 

I am going out of town, 

Over dale, over down, 

Where bugs bite not, 

Where lodgers fight not, 

Where below your chairmen drink not. 

Where beside you gutters stink not ; 
But all is fresh, and clear and gay, 
And merry lambkins sport and play ; 
And they toss wnth rakes uncommonly short hay, 
Which looks as if it had been sown only the other day, 
And where oats are at twenty-five shillings a boll, they 

say. 
But all's one for that, since I must and will away. 



TARRY woo', tarry woo' 
Tarry woo' is ill to spin ; 
Card it weel, card it weel, 

Card it weel, ere ye begin. 
When 'tis carded, rowed, and spun, 
Then the work is hafHins done ; 
But when woven, drest, and 'clean, 
It may be cleading for a queen. 



WAVEPwLEY POETRY. 255 



LETTER FROxM ZETLAND AND ORKNEY. 

To his Grace the Duke of Euccleuch, &c. 

Light-house Yacht, in tlie Sound of Lerwick, 
Zetland, 8th Aug. 1814. 

HEALTH to the Chieftain from his clansman true ! 
From her true minstrel health to fair Buccleuch I 
Health from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves 
Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves ; 
Where late the sun scarce vanished from the sight, 
And his bright pathway graced the short-lived night, 
Though darker now as autumn's shades extend, 
The north winds whistle, and the mists ascend. 
Health from the land w^here eddying whirlwinds toss 
The storm-rocked cradle of the Cape of Noss ; 
On outstretched cords the giddy engine slides. 
His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, 
And he that lists such desperate feat to try, 
May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky, 
And feel the mid-air gales around him blow. 
And see the billows rao-e five hundred feet below. 
Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore. 
The hardy isles-man tugs the daring oar. 
Practised alike his venturous course to keep 
Through the w^hite breakers or the pathless deep, 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 



255 t7AVEHLEY POETRY. 

And when the worn-out drudge eld ocean leaves, 
What comfort greets hinn and what hut receives ? 
Lady I the worst your presence e'er has cheered 
(When want and sorrow fled as you appeared) 
Were to a Zetlander as the high donr.e 
Gf proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. 

Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow, 

Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; 

Eut rocks on rocks, in mist and storm arrayed. 

Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, 

V/ith many a cavern seamed, the dreary haunt 

Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 

Wild round their rifted brows with frequent cry, 

As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly, 

And from their sable base, with sullen sound, 

In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound. 

Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain 

From those whose land has known oppression's chain ; 

For here the industrious Dutrhmian comes once m.ore 

To moor his Ashing c|^ft by Bressay's shore ; 

Greets every former mate and brother tar, 

jMarvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war. 

Tells miany a tale of Gallic outrage done. 

And ends by blessing God and Wellington. 

Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, 

Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; 



VVAVERLEY POETRY. 257 

Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth, 

And wakes the land Vvath brawls and boisterous mirth. 

A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow, 

The captive Norseman sits in silent wo, 

And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. 

Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway 

His destined course, and seize so mean a prey ; 

A bark with plank so warped, and seams so riven, 

She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven ; 

Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none 

Can list his speech, and understand his moan ; 

In vain — no isles-man now can use the tongue 

Of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage sprung. 

Not thus of old the Norse-men hither came, 

Won by the love of danger or of fame ; 

On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower 

Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their power ; 

For ne'er for Grecian vales nor Latian land 

Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand— 

A race severe — the isle and ocean lords 

Loved for its own delight the strife of swords — 

With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied, 

And blessed their gods that they in battle died. 

Such were the sires of Zetland's simple race ; 
And still the eye may faint resemblance trace 

X2 



258 WAVERLEY POETFA*. 

In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair, 
The limbs athletic, and the long, light hair ; 
(Such was the mein, as Scald and Minstrel sings, 
Of fair-haired Harold, first of Norway's kings ;) 
But their high deeds to scale these crags confined, 
Their only warfare is with w'ave and wind. 

Why should I talk of Mousa's castled coast ? 
Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh Eost ? 
May not these bald, disjointed lines suffice, 
Penned while my comrades whirl the rattling dice — 
While down the cabin sky-light lessening shine 
The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wine ? — 
Imagined, while down Mousa's desert bay 
Our well-trimmed vessel urged her nimble way — 
While to the freshening breeze she leaned her side — 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide — ? 

Such are the lays that Zetland isles supply ; 
Drenched with the drizzly spray and dropping sky, 

Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. 

W. Scott. 

POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. 
In respect that your Grace has commissioned a Kraken, 
You will please be inform'd that they seldom are taken ; 
It is January two years, the Zetland folks say, 
Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway bay ; 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 259 

He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, 

But the devil a Zetlander put from the shore, 

Though bold in the seas of the North to assail 

The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and whale. 

If your Grace thinks I'm writing the thing that is not, 

You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott ; 

(He's not of our clan, though his merits deserve it. 

But springs, I'm inform'd, from the Scotts of Scotstarvet,) 

He questioned the folks who beheld it with eyes, 

But they differed confoundedly as to its size. 

For instance,*he modest and diffident swore 

That it seemed like the keel of a ship, and no more — 

Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more high, 

Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean and sky — 

But all of the bulk had a steady opinion 

That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's dominion — 

And I think, my lord duke, your grace hardly would wish 

To cumber your house such a kettle of fish. 

Had your order related to night-caps or hose, 
Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty of those. 
Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? 
And direct me to send it, by sea or by mail ? 
The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but still 
I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. 
Indeed as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty, 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty, 

X3 



260 WAVERLEY POETRY. 

Pursued by seven Orkney men's boats, and no more, 
Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn on the 

shore ! 
You'll ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; 
I own that I did not, but easily might — 
For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay 
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay, 
And the isles-men of Sanda were all at the spoil, 
And fiinching (so term it) the blubber to boil. 
Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection 
That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous dissection. 
To see this huge marvel full fain would we go, 
But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. 
We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I must stare, 
When I think that in verse I once called it fair ; 
'Tis a base little borough, both dirty and mean — 
There is nothing to hear, and there's nought to be seen, 
Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate harangued, 
And a palace that's built by an earl that was hanged. 

But farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are going. 
The anchor's apeak, and the breezes are blowing ; 
Our Commodore calls all his band to their places. 
And 'tis time to release you. 

Good night to your Graces. 



WAVERLEY POETRY. 261 

WRITTEN IN PAIN AND LANGUOR. 

THE sun upon the Weirdlaw hill, 

In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; 
The westland wind is hush and still — 

The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 

Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; 
Though evening, with her richest dye, 

Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. 

With listless look, along the plain, 

I see Tweed's silver current glide, 
And coldly mark the holy fane 

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. 
The quiet lake, the balmy air, 

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, — 
Are they still such as once they were, 

Or is the dreary change in me ? 

Alas ! the warped and broken board. 

How can it bear the painter s dye ! 
The harp of strained and tuneless chord, 

How to the minstrel's skill reply ! 
To aching eyes each landscape lowers, 

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland hill. 



INSCRIPTION 
On a Monument, which Sir Walter Scott caused to be erected, in the 
chnrcb-yard of Irongrey, Edinburgh, to the memory of Helen 
Walker, the original of Jeanie Deans. 

THIS STONE WAS ERECTED 

by the Author of Waverley 

to the Memory 

of 

HELEN WALKER, 

who died in the year of God, 1791. 

This humble individual 

practised in real life 

the virtues 

with which fiction has invested 

the imaginary character of 

JEANIE DEANS ; 

refusing the slightest departure 

from veracity 

even to save the life of a sister; 

she nevertheless showed her 

kindness and fortitude 

in rescuing her from the severity of the law, 

at the expense of personal exertions, 

which the time rendered as difficult 

as the motive was laudable. 



Respect the Grave of Poverty 

when combined with love of truth 

and dear affection. 



INDEX. 



PAGE 

Abbot 37 

Activity *.. 67, 204 

Adept 230 

Advice to maidens .... 161, 201 
Ahriman, or the evil principle, 198 

Alsatians 174 

Alchemist 39 

Amy Robsart 129 

Ancient Ruins 155 

An hour with thee ...*.... 221 

Annot Lyle's song 75 

Anthony Foster. . . » 123 

Antiquary ».... 31 

Antiquarian Library 35 

Argumentation 33 

Are these the links of Forth 53 
Ariosto, lines from ........ 50 

Aristocracy * . . . 110 

Arthur's seat shall be my bed 59 

Aspirant's plea 74 

Asking counsel 195 

Astrology 207 

Auguries 245 

Auld Robin Gray continued 162 
Avarice » 42 

Baron Bradwardine's ariette 18 

Balfour of Burley 58 

Barefooted Friar » 81 

Ballantyne, lines to ... . 8, 32, 53 

Bale, city of 232 

Bereavement 123 

Bessy Bell and Mary Gray 125 

Be just 172 

Beauty ....210 

Beautiful deceiver 220 

Black Knight and Wamba. . . .89 

Bloody Vest 212 

Both well's verses 4 ....♦♦...♦. 55 



Bold and True 230 

Bridal song 11 

Brother's claim 121 

Bryce Snailsfoot * . . . 164 

Bragadocio 180 

Broken-hearted 237 

Cavalier's chorus * 69 

Care — from Horace 196 

Castle of Plessis 185 

Cavalier Scraps 225 

Change * 28 

Challenge 67,108 

Church protected 114 

Chance 177 

Cnaut for the dead 227 

Chant of German inquisitors 234 

Club-house * . 169 

Combat with a seal 33 

Commendable silence 44 

Come fill up my cup 48 

Conspiracy * 117 

Conservatism 138 

Court 167, 192, 239 

Colepepper and his mates ... .178 

Converted cavalier 182 

County Guy 1 89 

Confessional * 196 

Conscience, faith and hope 220 

Conclusion * . 246 

Crusader's return 78 

Crusader 208 

Cromwell's Times 217 

Cringing ceremony 236 

Cry the wild war note .... 2'^2 
Cunning man 28 

Davie Gellatly's songs .... 12 
Dalgetty's song * 71 



264 



INDEX. 



Death chant •••«.• 25 

Desolation ..••.. 47 

Debtor's prison 47 

Death of the wicked... . 80, 197 

Deserted castle 88 

Dead wake 93 

Delusion 123 

Death 126, 177 

Despairing lover * .185 

Death of Wm. Christian. ... 186 
Der Rhein — from the German 236 
Decrees of Providence .... 241 

Deluge 240 

Dialogue from Ossian 37 

Diana Vernon's rooms. . . .45, 48 

Dismal castle 70 

Dishonor 125 

Dicing and drinking 171 

Donald's war tune. 74 

Doubtfulness 123 

Dog not to be coaxed 171 

Dream 185 

Duelling, Duellist 38, 111 

Duet — Merman and Maid 140 
Duty 217 

Earl of Leicester .... 129, 132 
Edward the black prince. ... 44 

Education 102 

Edinburgh 235 

Effectual Physician 208 

Elspeth's ballads 40 

Elspeth's secret 48 

Enlistment 182 

Envy 207 

Enchantment 211 

Engineer 238 

Epitaph 29 

Epitaph on Balfour 58 

Eternity 26 

Ettrick forest 86 

Euphuist ♦» 109 



Evilplotter 70 

Evening hymn 86 

Every-day woman • • 21 1 

Exchange no robbery • . . 36 

Exquisite courtier 1 03 

Eye of Providence 28 

Fallen pride.. 42 

Fanaticism 82 

Farewell to the highlands. ... 43 
Farewell to Northmaven .... 136 
Farewell— Cleveland's song 153 

Fate of a court suitor 168 

Family love 195 

Family secrets 118 

Fair jailer 202 

Fancy 232 

Fenella 179 

Feudal times 238 

Fisher's boat 33 

Fisherman's ditty 151 

Flodden field 71 

Foray 91 

Foundling US 

Forester H3 

Fortune teller 162 

Forced bargain 28 

Fortune 48 

Freedom and thraldom .... 191 

France 191 

Funeral pageantry 34 

Fragments from Lockhart's 

Life of Scot 247 

Funeral hymn 92 

Gaberlunzie 33 

Gaiety and innocence .208 

George Herriot 166 

Geoffrey Hudson 191 

German inquisitors 234 

Ghost 222 

Glory 56 



INDEX. 



265 



Glee for king Charles 219, 245 

Glee-maiden's dirge 229 

Good conscience 56 

Good daughter 216 

Good night 150 

Governnienl 195 

Grief of the aged 39 

Great effects from small 

causes 210 

Greek and Frank 239 

Gullibility 193 

Gypsy's charm 24 

Gypsies 31, 190 

Halhert Glendening 93 

Halcro's songs andconjuration,154 

Happy old age 233 

Haunted chamlier 30 

Hazards of a crown 127 

Herbalist's charm IS 

He mounted himself. 123 

Hie away, hie away 13 

Home is home 72 

Honor or wealth lOS 

Hopelessness 43 

Horace imitated 91 

Horsemanship 52 

Human frailty 181 

Hypocrisy 194 

I left my lady's bower 54 

I'm come to the low country 226 

Independent beggar 33 

Indian emigrant 26 

Indisputable argument .... 226 

Inexpert 109 

In my time 130 

Inquisitive female 167 

It is a time of danger 123 

It's hame, and it's hame .... 203 

Jeanie Deans and the queen 64 



Jenny Dennison 54 

Jew 74, 82 

Jolly innkeeper 128 

King Rene 236 

Ladies' eyes 76 

Lady's escort 86 

Law and order 81 

Law, take thy victim 65 

Lay of poor Louise 223 

Letter writing 29 

Life's spring time 121 

Life's variableness 45 

Lizzy Lyndesay 228 

Lockhart, lines to 21 

London bore 170 

Lost imaginings 143 

Lost Honor 206 

Lover turned friar 114 

Lover's challenge 240 

Love and reason 126 

Love's pilgrimage 130 

Love overcomes all obstacles 165 

Love at first sight 173 

Love letter 190 

Love of gold 231 

Love's power 238 

Love wakes and weeps .... 152 

Lucky Trumbull 226 

Lucinda 229 

Madge Wildfire 60 

Man's wrath 237 

Blarch, march, Ettrick 1 12 

Mary— Halcro's song 136 

Tvlargaret Ramsay 173 

Marriage bells 244 

Merkwood Mere 9 

Mercenary father 68 

Mercenary marriages 184 

Merman and mermaid .... 140 



266 



INDEX. 



Middle ages 85 

Military physician 33 

Midnight robbers .172 

Minstrel 205 

Mine, the 241 

Mother's advice 57 

Monks 93, 233 

Mr. Smith 225 

My dog and I 228 

My heart's in the highlands,12.237 

My hounds may a' rin 56 

My maids, come to my bower 124 
Mysterious murder 227 

Necessity 192 

Never despair 200 

Niceness 184 

Night-mare 72 

Noma's incantations 133 to 156 

Northern tempest 132 

No, sir, I will not pledge. ... 179 

Novelist 222 

Now, hoist the anchor .... 192 

Oath 32, 118 

Oak-tree, lines to an 32 

Ocean 136 

O fear not, fear not. ....... 224 

Old world politeness 34 

Ominous 197 

One thing needful 168 

One way to pay debts 19 

Orphan maid 76 

O sadly shines 211 

O some do call me Jack .... 1 25 

Ourang Outang 239 

Outcast 32 

Outlaw's law 163 

Paternal guardian 125 

Parting 59 

Parents and children 69 



Passion 122 

Pandemonium 130 

Parental love 137 

Patience in difficulties .... 170 

Perseverance 69 

Persecuted Jew 74 

Pedlar 1 35 

Piercie Shafton 1 09 

Pirates' chorus 1 65 

Pity 173 

Polite hostess 27 

Poisoner of morals 53 

Political patronage 117 

Poverty 120 

Power of habit 163 

Politician 182 

Poor Louise 223 

Preacher 184 

Predestination 70 

Prisoner of war 192 

Prisoner's reflections. ...... 122 

Prison 27 

Pride 27 

Pride of birth 180 

Proper resentment 46 

Proverbs 84, 85, 131, 169, 241 

Progress of life 120 

Proposal 195 

Prophecy 26, 30, 72 

Prophecy confirmed SO 

Prudence . . . *. 1 1 2 

Punishment is sure 218 

Pure afiection 75 

Q,ueen Elizabeth 131 

Quack's advertisement .... 124 

Reason for robbing 59 

Rebecca's hymn 87 

Reformation 93, 138 

Remorse 39, 1 11 

Remuneration ill 



INDEX. 



267 



Restoration demanded .43 

Retainer 32 

Retraction 207 

Requital 231 

Ring *. 36 

Rivals 129 

Road of life 944 

Robbers' quarrels 165 

Rob Roy 42, 49 

Robbing tbe baggage 50 

Rockbound shore 30 

Roger Robsart 130 

Roundelay — Lords and Ladies 7 

Roundhead language 21s 

Rowena 78 

Ruined house 33 

Ruined monastery 117 

Rural life '. 231 

Sailors on shore 163 

Sage 194 

Saint Switbin's chair 20 

vScolchman in London 166 

Scotchman's return home .... 65 

Self punishment 34 

Seeming 85 

Self redress 171 

Secluded beauty 243 

Sin's progress 180 

Sign on an alehouse kept by 

a barber 178 

Silent flight 177 

Silent recognition 181 

Slave to the Devil 1 93 

Some better bard 293 

Sometimes methinks 1 hear 200 
Song — Abbot of Unreason 1 1 9 

Annot Lylc 75 

BaJmawhapple 19 

Black Knt. & Wamba, 89 

Claud Halcro 136 

Cleveland 152, 153 



Song— County Guy 189 

Davie Gellatly 12 

Dick Fletcher 164 

Efhe Deans 58 

Farewell, farewell. ... 153 

Fergus 17 

Flora Mclvor 15 

Glossin 23 

Goldthred 127 

Hatteraick 23 

Harold Harfager. . . . 138 
In the ordinary .... 183 

Inglewood 5I» 

Lucy Ashton 65 

Love wakes 153 

Madge Wildfire 60 

Major Bellenden .... 54 

Mary 136 

Morris 51 

Soldier, wake 201 

Vagrants 197 

White Lady 94, 116 

Sorry cheer 68 

Sorrowful meeting 194 

Sound, sound the clarion. ... 56 

Spirits 29 

Spirits of air 103 

Stale wit 169 

Stout miller 102 

Superannuated 46 

Sumptuous entertainment .... 66 

Sullied honor 209 

Superstition 108 

Sword and pen 71 

Sympathies 136 

Sympathy between life & death,43 

Table talk 194 

Tangled case 112 

Tecbir 222 

The heart is lightly prized 244 
The hour is nigh 243 



INDEX. 



The king called down his . . . .203 
The knight's to the mountain, 13 

The monk must arise 66 

Then let the health go round 225 
There is mist on the mountain 15 
There never was a time .... 211 
They came upon us in the nightjl4 

Time 35 

Tis the black ban dog .... 203 

Tiber and the Tay 237 

Tobacco 52 

To err is human 132 

l&'oll, loll the bell 237 

Tom and Dick 232 

AGwn without an inn 47 

Touching tale 241 

Travellers 70 

Troth-plight 193 

Ti-'js freedom 36 

rriith and falsehood 140 

Twas time and griefs 56 

Twist ye and twine ye 24 

Twixt Wiglon and Ayr 122 

Two bodies to one head .... 2 IS 

Uncertainty 67 

Unprofitable priest S3 

Untired 116 

Upon the Rhine, a song . . . . 235 

Variety 103 

Varney described 128 

Vengeance 210 

Versatility 91 

Vicious sympathy .68 



Virtue's path .20 

Visions 31, 233 

Visionary 34, 242 

Waken, lords and ladies gay 7 

Waverley 18 

Wager 125 

Wamba's song 89 

Waif 143 

War 46 

War song of the Saxons. ... 83 

War on the viands 179 

Way of escape 67 

V/eich descant 205 

Welch war 207 

V7hat know we of the blest 184 

Vv hat sheeted ghost 203 

Whale ashore 142 

When with poetry dealing. . . .21 

Where's the jolly host 58 

V7here is he 241 

V^hite Lady's Chants. . . .94, 104, 
110, 113—116 

V^ife's lament... ..' 19 

Vv^ill you hear of a Spanish 240 

Woman's confidence 178 

Woman's smile 52 

Woman's truth 204 

Worldly benevolence 68 

Wo, wo, son of the lowlander 64 

Woodman's rhyme 242 

W^onder 115 

Young men will love thee. ... 14 
Young Rob Roy 49 



FROM THB PR28S OF MTJ1TR035 k FRANCIS, BOSTON, 



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